Inverse
by Elesrea
Summary: Dumbledore asks Hermione to carry out a secret mission before the start of her fourth year. "Keep the Time Turner, Miss Granger. I want you to use it to help Mr. Malfoy reevaluate his beliefs. He is now depending on you." HG/DM
1. Mission Impossible

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events.

* * *

Chapter 1: Mission Impossible

.

Summer was arriving.

The towers filled with enthusiastic chatter of students, all who were eager to go back home. Final exams were a passable breeze, although the blank look that sat on a few faces proved otherwise. Sunlight poured through the open windows of the stone walls, illuminating the hallways with life.

Hermione stood in front of the large griffin gargoyle on the third floor, her heart beating with excitement. Her third year was finally coming to a close, and after every dramatic turn of meeting Harry's godfather to saving Buckbeak, she was ready for summer.

Clearing her throat, she spoke, "Pixie Puffs."

She watched with childish glee as gargoyle moved aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that would lead to the Headmaster's office. She walked in, trying not to think about the odd choice of password—a breakfast cereal that was often served in the Great Hall.

After stepping out of the stone staircase, she approached the large wooden doors and knocked loudly. The right door opened on its own, allowing Hermione to walk inside.

She gave herself a moment to admire the large circular room. One side was filled from floor to ceiling with thick books, pressed against each other on shelves. She would have probably given her left arm to be able to read through the collection. There was an old, broken looking hat that sat on top of a shelf—she smiled, recognizing it as the old sorting hat made by Godric Gryffindor himself. The high walls were filled with windows, letting the sunlight leak through the glass. Portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses lined the wall underneath—they appeared to be sleeping, a few of them quietly snoring away in their frames. Near the back of the room, perched on a wooden stand was the most beautiful bird Hermione had ever seen; it was covered in fire red feathers, and brilliant gold lined its tail. She gazed at its black eyes with awe, admiring the sheer majestic quality of the magical creature.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore's voice cut through. She turned quickly and spotted her headmaster sitting at his desk, filled with strange devices that puffed out colorful smoke.

"Professor Dumbledore," she greeted, smiling. "I hope I am not bothering you…"

"Not at all. Please sit." He smiled warmly. "I presume Professor McGonagall sent you?"

She nodded, taking the cushiony red chair that reminded her of the one in the common room. She slid the rather light necklace off her head and placed it on his desk. "I came to return the Time Turner. I'll be dropping Divination and Muggle Studies next year, so I won't be needing it anymore."

There was a soft glint in Dumbledore's blue eyes. He didn't take the instrument from the desk, but rather, regarded her with a curious expression.

"Actually, there is a sudden opportunity that revealed itself, so I was hoping you would hold onto it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Sir?"

"You see Miss Granger," Dumbledore explained. "I know that you are a talented young witch, seeing as Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are constantly in one piece—" she blushed lightly. "—However, there is great danger that looms in the near future, and time is something we all need."

She was still confused. "What are you suggesting, sir?"

He smiled. "I happen to know of a young man who is in need of more time. Specifically, time to reevaluate his beliefs and find the position that he wants for himself. As of now, he is trapped between two walls, walking on the only path that was carved for him. He is in need of a helping hand, you see, and I believe that you are capable of doing so."

Hermione's mind whirled with possibilities. Her first thought automatically went to Harry, but his explanation didn't describe her green-eyed friend at all. She then thought of Ron, but quickly dismissed the idea. Biting the inside of her cheek, she frowned and titled her head in thought.

"Who is this young man that needs more time?" she inquired.

"I believe you know him quite well," Dumbledore paused. "His name is Draco Malfoy."

Her body went stiff and her eyes widened with shock. She had not expected to hear the evil cockroach's name from her Headmaster's mouth.

"So…" she breathed, trying not to jump to conclusions. "You want me to give Malfoy the Time Turner?"

He shook his head softly, confirming her worst fears. "No, Miss Granger. I want you to use the Time Turner to _help _Mr. Malfoy."

She leaned back in disbelief. She would have to die and then be raised from death before ever thinking about willingly helping Malfoy. Her vision blurred with momentary rage as she thought about his horrible attitude for the past three years. She took a steadying breath. It didn't work.

"Professor, I can't," she stressed._ "_He hates me. And I hate him. We'll kill each other! He's the most egotistical, despicable little—"

Dumbledore cut her off with a hand and gave her a stern look. Hermione groaned silently.

"Mr. Malfoy has his own set of issues he deals with. Whether you choose to see it or not, he is a complex young man just like Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. When approaching him, you must put aside your differences and try to see him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is. There is much more to this assignment than it may seem."

"Secondly, You must understand this," he said with a softer tone. "Mr. Malfoy was _taught_ to hate you. He knows of nothing else. From the moment he was born, it's been driven into his head that anything other than a pureblood is lower than him. Now, do you really believe that to be true?"

She furiously shook her head.

"Precisely, Miss Granger. This is the root of of blood supremacy. He must be shown that his views are illogical if he is to change."

"Professor, I just… can't," she whispered, trying to hold back the sudden rush of feelings. "The things he says to me… it's terrible. I know it shouldn't let it bother me… but I really can't stand him..."

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment. "Listen carefully," he folded his hands together and lowered them on the desk. "Insults can only hurt you if you believe them to be true. You told me that you do not believe the pureblood ideology. It may be difficult to hear them now, but if you can understand this, those insults will become nothing but mere words. Opinions. Words that hold no meaning because they cannot apply to you once you set your mind on this."

She choked.

It made perfect sense.

Hermione felt her eyes rim with tears. The moments she stepped into Hogwarts, she wanted nothing more than to prove her worth, to show that she was no different even if she was muggle-born. Why did she feel the need to justify her worth in the first place? She never wanted to admit it. To face her weakness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had believed herself to be lower than them. The insults stung because some part of her thought it was true.

Horrified at the discovery, she closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over. She had thought she was strong, holding her ground against everything Harry and Ron could never fully understand. But in reality, she had fell right into their hands.

The old Headmaster waited patiently for her to recover, sliding over a box of tissues, which she took gratefully.

"I—I thought I didn't believe it," she choked, wiping her cheek. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," he corrected softly. "The pressure is immense, but you have held your head high and preformed remarkably. And now is the time to let it go. Self assurance does not come overnight, you must consistently ground yourself to your beliefs, it will take time."

She sighed and nodded slowly. Her mind flashed to every moment in class that she raised her hand eager to prove herself, every insult to her blood status, and every time she ran to the bathroom, letting the tears slip out and making a silent oath to prove them all wrong. There would be no need for any of that anymore.

"So what exactly should I do?" she asked quietly, feeling rather tired. "I can't start acting cheerful towards him all of a sudden. Harry and Ron won't have any of it. They hate Malfoy too."

"The Time Turner, Miss Granger," he replied. "No one will see you, and no one will know of your actions other than Mr. Malfoy. There is no specific way to do this, but understand that it will take time and effort, both of which you have mastered to great success. Believe in yourself."

"I just…" she started. "What's the point in trying to help Malfoy change his beliefs in the first place?"

Dumbledore's face turned serious. "It is a matter of life and death my dear. Maybe not entirely physically, but you must try to save his soul."

She wanted to scoff and reply that his soul wasn't worth saving. Shaking her head, she dismissed the evil thought.

"Are you suggesting that Malfoy could—" she stopped her words, not wanting to accuse him of turning into another Voldemort, even if he was Malfoy. "…Well, do something he will regret?"

His eyes sparkled as if she had answered correctly, but his face remained somewhat serious.

"I know a man who was much like Mr. Malfoy in his younger days," Dumbledore revealed. "He didn't have the opportunity to learn the true consequences of his actions until it was too late, and now he lives every day trying to reverse his previous endeavors. You must prevent this. Even if it's just a hint of doubt, you must plant that hesitation in his mind."

Her mind began slowing down. As much as she wanted to shriek in disgust about having to try and talk to Malfoy, _and _get him make better choices in life, she simply couldn't find it in herself to refuse him. Dumbledore was the wisest wizard she knew, and if he suspected something to happen in the future, it wouldn't do her well to ignore his request.

"How long do I have exactly?" she gulped. "To… help Malfoy?"

His lips thinned. "Not long, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed through her nose and picked up the Time Turner again. She gave it an accusatory glance before nodding at Professor Dumbledore.

"I'll try," she whispered, feeling a bit dazed. "Though I don't think I can guarantee much success."

The old wizard gave her a warm smile. "You can. Don't doubt your abilities. And most of all, don't doubt your beliefs."

"I won't," she replied resolutely.

"Now, I'm sure you want to finish packing so you can make it to the end-of-the-year feast. Know that I am very proud of you for taking this mission and I will always be here if you are in need of assistance—or sherbet lemons."

Hermione gave him a small smile and stood from the chair. She slid the Time Turner back on her neck again and tucked it under her robes. It now felt like a heavy weight, constantly reminding her of Malfoy. She bid the headmaster farewell and turned to push the large wooden door open.

"Oh, and Professor?" she turned around, curiosity eating through her chest. "The man you were talking about before, who was in a similar situation to Malfoy... was he able to countermand his mistakes?"

There was a gleam in his eyes, as he seemed to think for a moment. "He was. But I'm afraid; his story will not have a happy ending. Don't allow Mr. Malfoy to follow the same path. He is now depending on you, Miss Granger."

There were bubbles of dread in her chest. She simply nodded and continued her way out of his office.

Excited shouts and conversations filled the hallways, but Hermione felt numb. She mindlessly made her way to the seventh floor and into the Gryffindor Common Room.

She would have to do a lot of thinking this summer.

* * *

A/N: Short first chapter, I know.  
Hello dear readers! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, don't fret, the other chapters will be much longer—about twice as long, actually. This is going to be a pretty long multi-chapter fic, seeing as I have _four_ sodding books to go through, probably be in the high double digits. Anywho, I've been playing with the Time Turner idea for a while, and now I've started the first step to a hundred mile journey. Do note, the build up between Hermione and Draco will be slow and steady. I'm not going to have him fall in love with her by the fifth chapter—we all know Draco is far too stubborn for that.

In any case, please review and tell me what you think!

El


	2. The First Task

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events.

* * *

Chapter 2: The First Task

.

The year was not looking good for Hermione. She spent most of her summer at the burrow for good measure and attended the World Quidditch Cup, only for it to be ransacked by death eaters later that night.

She had a surprise encounter with Malfoy in the woods, but the meeting had been sour. Harry and Ron were not making things easier for her, and Malfoy was being an arrogant prat as usual. It was extremely difficult for her to pull the two boys away, but as she did, she realized that he had called her a mudblood again, taunted her, and she hadn't cared. Or maybe she was too concentrated on the fact that there were screaming muggles a short distance away.

Then the Dark Mark was shot into the sky, and the adults erupted in mass panic. Mr. Crouch's house-elf was sacked under the pretense of using a wand and casting the dark mark in the sky—honestly, like she even knew how to do such a thing, and Ron's father was having trouble at the ministry due to a poorly written article.

In short, things were not looking up for her.

The morning after returning to Hogwarts and having the Triwizard Tournament announced, the whole school was buzzing. Hermione begrudgingly began to eat again after finding out about the mass of house-elves making their food. She wanted to do something about the their poor situation, but starving herself just wouldn't do. She needed to think.

Once breakfast was over, McGonagall was standing at the head of their table, handing out their timetables for the year. She took hers with a quick mutter of thanks and scanned the parchment.

Her heart stopped.

There was another neatly printed timetable right under hers. She didn't see a name but knew immediately whom the other schedule belonged to.

Malfoy.

Under his schedule were three words written in elegant script.

_Remember the laws. _

Her mouth went dry, and Hermione did her best to resume breathing. It was unmistakably Dumbledore's handwriting—and his doing. She glanced at McGonagall who had handed her the timetable without a second glance. Was it possible that he had informed her head of house about it?

"Hey Hermione, what's your schedule like?" Ron asked, snatching the paper from her hands before she could react.

"Ron—no, give it back!" she gasped, reaching for the parchment but he pulled it away.

"You dropped Divination for Arithmancy?" he grumbled. "Who's going to help me and Harry with homework? Ah—and no free periods as usual."

Hermione's heart lodged in her throat, but Ron simply handed the sheet back to her with a snort. She took it with shock. Why hadn't Ron said anything? She was sure he would have asked about the second timetable under hers. After giving another glance at the paper, she concluded that it had probably been charmed for her eyes only. Nothing else made sense.

She read through her timetable again, memorizing the classes and finally read through Malfoy's class list. She had double potions with him on Friday, and was enrolled in Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures—much to her surprise. She had assumed he would have dropped the class after the rather dramatic events with Buckbeak and trying his best to get Hagrid sacked last year. Malfoy also had his free period, Wednesday before dinner. It was during the same hours she had History of Magic.

Sighing, she folded the offending piece of parchment and tucked it in her robes. Even though no one could read it, she felt safer with the information stored away.

The Gryffindor tower was bustling with noise as usual. Fred and George were attempting to find some way to participate in the tournament, Lavender and Parvati had already started gossiping about who-knows-what, and Harry and Ron were somewhere in their rooms, unpacking and probably complaining over the fact that Quidditch had been postponed for the year.

It were moments like these Hermione felt that she should have been placed in Ravenclaw, surrounded by other friends who deliberately chose to think about classes tomorrow. She was reading the spell book for grade 4, flipping through each one with relative ease.

She had Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, and Arithmancy with Professor Vector tomorrow. Both classes were something she had no worries about, but her stomach was sinking deeper, and she knew that her solo mission needed to be put into action soon.

Just thinking of Malfoy was giving her a headache. She had run into him twice now, and she had barely been able to hold Harry and Ron back, much less her own annoyance. How was she going to help him? Or have him see that he was making the wrong choices in life? Groaning, she closed the book shut, and decided to formulate a plan. And maybe a few backup plans while she was at it.

Wednesday could not come faster. Malfoy had tried to cause trouble with Hagrid in class, she had intervened for the old game keeper's sake; he sat directly behind her in the twelve student Arithmancy class—she had ignored him to the best of her ability, and to top it off, he had briefly been turned into a ferret by Professor Moody and tossed around like a muggle bouncing ball after almost blasting Harry's ear off.

The moment History of Magic ended, Hermione's stomach was twisted into knots. She mumbled something to Harry and Ron about going to the library and found herself in a deserted hallway. She glanced around, making sure she was truly alone, and slowly pulled the Time Turner from under her robes. Concentrating on breathing, she gave the clock two spins, and watched as the instrument activated, sending her two hours back in time.

Blinking her eyes, she recognized her surroundings. She was currently on the fourth floor, her other self most likely making her way to History of Magic a half hour early. She cast a disillusionment charm on herself and felt her body melt into the background.

Hermione darted through the halls and held her breath. If Malfoy were in the common room, there would be no way she would be able to talk to him. After racking her brain for his timetable, she remembered that he was just finishing Charms**, **and hurriedly ran down to the Professor Flitwick's classroom, arriving just as the large double doors boomed open, revealing the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students.

Malfoy appeared with Crabbe and Goyle walking a few steps behind. He had his usual nasty look on his face and said something to the two large dimwits. They seemed to shrug and nod, soon walking in the other direction. He turned on his heel, and began walking towards the staircase.

She followed him silently, keeping a large distance between the two. She narrowed her eyes and wondered where he was headed, when he began walking through familiar hallways that Hermione could have mapped out blindfolded in her first-year. Sure enough, the large doors of the library came into view. She rushed ahead as he stepped into her sanctuary, quickly following him in before the door could shut.

He walked towards the back of the library where there were sets of tables and comfy work chairs for students to find a quiet place to read or relax. He pulled out a chair near one of the larger windows with the view of the Quidditch pitch and spread his work over the table. She counted his short stack of textbooks with parchment and saw a bottle of ink and quills being placed on the wood.

Hermione stood at the end of a long bookshelf, observing him quietly. She was still far away to make a run for it if needed be, but close enough that she could make out his expression. It was odd. She inwardly snorted. What was she thinking? This was far from odd. It was demented! She was watching her arch nemesis do his homework, and did it willingly with borrowed time.

Malfoy seemed perfectly at ease. His shoulders were relaxed, and he had his feet propped up in front of him, a large book in his lap. His head was tilted to the side and leaning against his hand; it reminded her of those television commercials she saw back home advertising a vacation at the Caribbean and relaxing in high-class hotels.

She wondered how long she should observe him for. It didn't look like he was going to make some life changing decision anytime soon. What would she even talk about? How would she approach him? She inwardly laughed at herself. She never thought she'd one day be in the library trying to figure out how to willingly talk to Malfoy. The future looked grim indeed.

Hermione doubted she could simply walk up to him and ask how he was doing. She sighed; she had to start somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she released the disillusionment charm on herself and began walking through the bookshelves. She trailed her fingers along the spines, and cracked a few books open, making the smallest of noises to have her presence known.

The shelves were staggering in height, so she couldn't see Malfoy, but neither could he see her. After grabbing a spell book she had checked out seven times before, she rounded the corner.

Hermione decided to have a moment of hesitation before she turned to notice him.

_One…_

_Two…_

She flipped her head towards his direction, and sure enough, he glanced back. His face immediately shifted into his trademark sneer, and his previous relaxed posture was quickly replaced by the slant of his shoulders and a slight rise in his chest.

"Well, if it isn't Granger," he jeered. "Why is a mudblood running around without her keeper?"

Her hand tightened around the book, but she managed to keep her voice leveled. "Nothing much—What's the delicate little prince doing without his most trusted bodyguards?"

"Watch yourself," he warned, his grey eyes flashing with annoyance. "Wouldn't want to end up in the Hospital Wing so soon into the year."

_Breathe. _

_Think of Dumbledore!_

"Oh—" she raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you try it? You are after all, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

So much for thinking.

He was on his feet the next second, the book in his lap snapped shut and smacked on the table, wand out and pointed at her.

Hermione wasn't any slower.

"I only happened to miss Potter on Monday because Professor Moody got in the way." His eyes widened dangerously. "But there's no one to save you here, mudblood."

Hermione bit back her response and opted for a feral growl from the back of her throat. They locked eyes, and for a moment, she could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat. Her lip curled into a furious snarl, and her fingers shifted the wooden wand for a cleaner grip.

This conceited, prissy, moronic bag of bollocks—

_You must put aside your differences and try to see him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is._

Her focus wavered.

_Mr. Malfoy was taught to hate you._

Her wrist lowered.

_He is now depending on you, Miss Granger._

Hermione swore loudly, retracting her arm and tearing her gaze from Malfoy's.

She saw a flash of surprise in his face, but she turned on her heel and dove away, partially afraid he would try and hex her as her back turned. She rounded the corner again, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand.

For heaven's sake! This was single-handedly the hardest thing she ever had to do: be civil to Malfoy.

He was the most self-centered arse to ever walk the earth! How on earth was she going to help change his views? They couldn't be in each other's presence without whipping out wands within the next minute.

Sighing, she slumped down on one the cushiony chairs and set the book on the table. She closed her eyes and replayed their conversation. Where had it gone wrong? Well, talking to him in the first place was wrong, but she couldn't count that.

He had taunted her first, so she had every right to retort back.

Then he threatened to send her to the Hospital Wing, so she was only retaliating in turn.

She groaned, realizing her mistake. Malfoy may have provoked her, but she had a choice the respond in kind or not.

In the end, she had let him get the best of her.

Her stomach felt like it was being eaten through by acid. She wanted to go back there and yell out her frustrations, but cut the thought. It would be too suspicious to try and talk to him again—after all; she had never willingly gone up to him to have a nice conversation in her life.

She figured if he came to the library every free period, she would have to battle with him once a week. And much to her vexation, she had lost the first one.

Hermione and checked her watch. It had only been ten minutes since they had walked in. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and replayed the conversation over and over again. Trying to remember his facial expression, or his tone of voice. If she was going to convince him—or persuade him, whatever—she needed to notice the subtle signs.

The next two hours ticked by slowly, and after checking that Malfoy was deeply absorbed in his book, she slipped around to the bookshelf behind him, returned the spell book she had taken and walked out of the library.

She entered the Gryffindor common room, noticing Harry and Ron musing over fake predictions for their Divination homework. Harry was the first to look up.

"Back already?" he asked.

She gave a quick glance at her wristwatch and inwardly cursed her lack of thought. It was five minutes past the bell ring for History of Magic, so to them, she had practically walked to the library and back. She simply shrugged, hoping they wouldn't delve too deep.

"The book I wanted had already been checked out."

"Oh," said Harry, not sounding very interested. He turned back to his Divination homework and bantered with Ron again.

Quietly sighing, she turned on her heel and began to walk up to the girl's dormitory. She needed a vague plan, as much as she didn't want to make it. Malfoy was a wild card; she could never expect him to act a certain way and could easily say something that could make her lose control. She needed an outline, and time was ticking again.

.

Hermione was beginning to embrace her inner Slytherin side. Not that she had much in the first place, but after two weeks of observing—stalking, really—Malfoy, she had become quite adept that picking up the smallest of movements and expressions, and staying relatively out of sight. She decided she would simply watch him before trying to talk to him again. Her first attempt had gone terribly, simply because she had rushed. Talking to Malfoy would take a lot of time and effort, just like Dumbledore said.

It was the third week in, History of Magic had ended with the bell ring, and Hermione waved to Ron and Harry—both of them already understanding that she would be in the library. Making her way to the familiar empty corridor on the seventh floor, she gave the Time Turner two spins and saw two hours fly by in reverse.

She cast the disillusionment charm on herself and set her walk to the Charm's class where Malfoy would be finishing in a few minutes.

Ignoring the usage of the Time Turner, Hermione had turned fifteen, two days ago. There was a small celebration in the Gryffindor room, but was otherwise a passing day. She began tossing around the idea of aging while using the Time Turner. There were multiple books regarding the rules and usage of messing with time, but nothing was certain. The only thing that she clearly remembered relating to her situation was Eloise Mintumble, the unspeakable that went back nearly five hundred years. When she returned, the centuries caught up with her, killing her and causing a few of her relatives to be unborn.

Going by this theory, if she continued to age while using the Time Turner, the age gap between her and those in her year would increase even more. She spent two hours back in time a week—so eight hours a month—if she planned to continue this mission for the rest of the school year, she had about nine more months to go—a seventy-two hour jump, exactly three days. It wasn't much, but Hermione had still yet to count the hours she spend traveling back in time all last year. After doing the math in her head, she concluded that she had quite possibly turned fifteen, six days earlier instead of two.

Feeling rather old, she stopped at the hallway next to the charm's class and watched the large double doors swing open and the students pour out with tired murmurs. Malfoy stepped out with Crabbe and Goyle, and separated ways as usual. She had originally wondered why he dismissed them to go study in the library, and concluded that even she wouldn't be able to study properly with dunderheads like Crabbe and Goyle breathing down her neck every second.

He strode towards the winding staircase to the third floor, and she kept pace with him until they reached the library. Hermione had spent the last two weeks simply watching him after her first loss, but she felt prepared today—she wouldn't fall for his provocations.

He set down his belongings and walked over to the shelves, popping off a few book into his arms after a quick scan. She caught a few of the titles and began formulating her plan.

Malfoy set the stack of texts on his table and sat down in his usual chair, cracking the first spine open. She decided to give him ten minutes of personal studying time before she went in and sabotaged it.

After the set time was up, Hermione released the invisibility charm, and began walking through the shelves, making slightly more noise than necessary. She huffed in impatience when she reached the shelf behind Malfoy and saw that the book she 'wanted' wasn't there. Rounding the corner, she immediately turned to the blonde.

"Oh—Malfoy," he glanced up, scowling. "Did you possibly take _Intermediate Transfiguration_?"

Hermione walked over to his table, not waiting for his reply. His scowl deepened as he saw the book on top of his stack and snatched it away as she approached.

"So what if I did?" he sneered. "I got my hands on it first—so run along, I'm not giving it to you."

_I don't even need the bloody book_. Hermione breathed.

"Please?" she asked again. "You're not looking at it right now. It'll only be a minute."

"Not a chance," he repeated. "I wouldn't want to touch the book after your filthy mudblood self looked through it."

There was a victorious glint in his eyes that she caught, as if he had won the battle. He knew it too; it was the taboo word. Once it was said, she had usually screeched at him or stomped away extremely upset. He knew what affected her and had no hesitation in saying it. But it wasn't going to happen.

She pursed her lips. "Are you saying that you're scared? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Scared you say?" he snorted. "More like having common sense to avoid touching what will only taint me."

_Patience._

"Why? Is your superior pure blood not strong enough to protect you from my mudblood germs?"

Malfoy's eye twitched, and the corner of his lips pulled by a fraction. Miniscule things that most people never noticed, but after Hermione had been observing him, she knew he was cracking. She had probably surprised him for good measure, referring to herself as a mudblood, thereby removing the weight of the word. If she accepted it, using it to try and aggravate her would be pointless.

"Face it, Malfoy." She pressed. "You're scared of my lowly mudblood germs."

His eye twitched again, but he growled dangerously. "I. Am. Not. Scared." He hissed through his teeth. "Now leave, Granger, before I force you."

She almost wanted to laugh. He had called her Granger again. Hermione placed her hands on the table and leaned forward.

"Prove it. Just give me the book," she insisted. "Like I said before, I'll only have it for a few minutes. Are you really going to hex me over a book?"

His jaw tightened considerably. "A few minutes for you to take it and walk off with it? No. Now leave."

"I'm not going to take it," she replied, satisfied that he had at least considered the idea. "I'll read it right here and hand it back to you."

"And come back in five minutes to read it again when you've forgotten something?" Malfoy sneered. "No. I'm not going to say this again."

"I won't. I don't forget anything after I've read it once, Malfoy," she replied impulsively, realizing her tumble a second too late.

_Merlin's balls! _She had never meant to say that. Not even Harry and Ron knew about her especially keen memory.

His eyes widened slightly, but again, nothing clearly noticeable. He seemed to briefly consider something before snorting.

"That's impossible, Granger," he dismissed. "If you're going to lie then at least make it believable—barmy Gryffindors."

It was a second later that Hermione realized Malfoy had not told her 'no' and 'leave'. Her heart thudded; this was her opportunity.

"I'll show you," she extended her hand. "I'll read the passage I need from the book and I'll recite it back to you _word for word_."

His eyes narrowed with obvious curiosity, but his arm refused to hand her the book he snatched away.

Impatient, Hermione grabbed another book from his stack and flipped to a random page. She didn't hear Malfoy yell at her, or try and take the book back. It seemed that he was having quite the internal struggle between his curiosity and his normal rude self.

Feeling somewhat safer that she wouldn't be hexed, she set her eyes down on a new paragraph and began reading, absorbing every word. After blazing through three paragraphs, she raised her head and handed the book to Malfoy. His grey eyes were still narrowed, but he took the book from her.

"Starting from the first cut on page two hundred and forty-eight," she said. His eyes followed her and fell on the intended paragraph.

Hermione then began to read back entire two pages of material, word for word. She saw his eyes widen as she continued, not even missing a single pause when there was a comma or a period. After a minute of reciting, she cut off at the last word and looked defiantly at Malfoy.

"Believe me now?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment before snapping the book shut. "No," he replied and began to write something on a torn piece of parchment. "For all I know, you could have read the book already." He then tossed her the small scrap, a smirk on his face. "Repeat what I've written there."

She caught the flimsy material with a reflexive twist of her wrist and glanced at the jumble of both letters and numbers written in Malfoy's neat handwriting. She was momentarily distracted by his calligraphy, wondering how a guy had such elegant script. It looked impeccable next to Harry and Ron's clumsy scrawl. Inwardly shaking her head, Hermione stared down at the illogical mess, committing it to memory. She handed the sheet back to him, and he took it, giving her a smug look as if he had caught her.

Inwardly snorting, she began repeating his random characters back to him with perfection. His eyebrows furrowed together once he realized that she had just proved him wrong.

Not only that, but he had taken both the book and the parchment from her after she had 'tainted it'. He seemed to have done it unknowingly, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to rub it in his face. She held that particular feeling back—self-discovery was crucial in learning to change opinions.

Minutes went by in silence, as she waited for him to say something. He was obviously having a difficult time processing that he had been incorrect. Feeling accomplished already, she sighed expressively and tried to look tired.

"You know what, Malfoy," she breathed. "Keep the bloody book. Since you're that unwilling it give it up, I'll leave."

She turned on her heel and stalked away; rounding the corner of a large shelf and plopping down on the chair she usually sat in. Malfoy made no notion that he acknowledged her leaving. She had expected him to shout at her, or hex her for telling him what to do.

The library remained quiet.

Frankly, Hermione wanted to scream with joy. Her plan had been a great success! She had never intended to actually take the book from him. She simply asked for something she knew he wouldn't give, so he would no doubt taunt her again, and she could build her immunity to his insults. It had worked out rather superbly. The only thing she didn't expect was revealing her eidetic memory. It had been an impulsive retort, but Hermione couldn't figure out whether she truly regretted telling him or not.

She never liked revealing her special ability because the muggle children that she was once friends with often teased her about it, or insulted her. It was always one or the other. She guessed that the moment word got out of her memory at Hogwarts, the boys would be relying on her for their homework even more; claiming that she was gifted and it would be easy for her. No way. She knew that Malfoy wouldn't bother telling anyone—who would believe him in the first place? If people managed to think twice about what the Slytherin prince was claiming about the girl he arguably hated the most, he would then have to explain their meeting as well. The man was stuck in a rut.

Smiling, Hermione glanced at her watch. An hour had gone by. She had successfully—in her opinion—had a somewhat civil conversation with Malfoy, no wands were pulled, and all her limbs were still on her body.

She had won today's battle and it felt damn good.

The next hour slipped by rather slowly, Hermione replayed their conversation multiple times, stashing away his reactions and keeping tabs on his expression. After formulating another vague plan for the next week, she pulled out a random book from the shelf next to her and plopped it open, wanting to get some leisure reading time.

She glanced at her watch, estimating that her other self along with Harry and Ron were finishing up History of Magic. Not wanting to repeat her last mistake of returning to early, she decided to stay for another half-hour before going back to the tower.

By the end, Hermione was so into her book that she didn't hear the soft footsteps that approached her. There was a quiet clank on her table, indicating something being dropped. She barely glanced up in time to see a pale hand quickly retract back, the swish of dark robes and white blonde hair rush out of sight.

Dumbfounded, she glanced at the new guest on her table, gasping softy when she saw _Intermediate Transfiguration _lying flat on the wood, it's presence meaning more to her than she could ever describe.

* * *

A/N: Hope you guys liked the chapter! I wanted to get straight into Hermione and Draco's interactions—I pray I did them justice.

Three things I want to quickly explain. One, the events that happen in canon (the books) I will just briefly mention or skip all together. I'm sure you guys don't want to waste time reading stuff that you can look up yourselves in the books. Two, because I'm omitting that, there will be time skips almost every chapter. If there's confusion don't hesitate to ask me. Three, there will be no SPEW. Hermione will still have her unrelenting spirit for the liberty of house-elves, but the actual society will be left out—it just makes things easier for me honestly.

P.S. I love Hermione's declaration in DH when she's talking to Griphook. "Why shouldn't I? Mudblood, and proud of it!" Basically where I got my inspiration for this chapter. Also, I do know she doesn't have eidetic memory, it just seemed right to add it in.

Please Review!

El


	3. Mercy

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events.

* * *

Chapter 3: Mercy

.

Hermione didn't get the chance to speak with Malfoy for another two weeks. He had made his way to the Slytherin Common Room with Crabbe and Goyle the first week, and didn't dare sneak in after them to be trapped in enemy territory. The week after that, he had visited the library again, only to leave a half-hour in of working, and walked down to the Quidditch pitch. She watched him fly around a few laps by himself, diving suddenly, twisting in the air, and practicing his maneuvering.

She would never admit it, but he flew incredibly well—that is, if he wasn't constantly taunting Harry or trying to cheat. He flew with the confidence of experience; the way he held himself on the broom, or dismounted it with ease as if he had been doing it since childhood.

When her third chance came to talk to Malfoy, it was already mid-October. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons' students were due to arrive in eleven days, and once the tournament started, she knew Hogwarts would be filled with more students so prancing around under a Time Turner wasn't going to be easy, no matter how developed her stealth skills were.

He sat in the library near the large window, writing his essay in silence. Again, she had to admit, the guy was actually smart. Hermione may have been the top in her year, but Malfoy was consistently right behind her, and she was sure Snape's favor couldn't extend into giving him higher grades in his other subjects.

She walked up to him from behind, lifting the disillusionment charm and cursing her lack of social skills to start a decent conversation.

"Hey Malfoy," she began; he turned to her, scowling again. "Er—I just wanted to say thank you for the book."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his upper lip curled slightly. He turned away from her and gave his attention back to his essay.

She decided not to press the matter, thinking that it probably hurt his pride to enough think he had handed the book to her. Wiping off her silly smile, she walked away from his table and began scanning the shelves for something to read. He had picked a great section to study in. There were plenty of books around that interested her, and she would be able to watch him from the corner of her eyes.

Picking up a rather thin text on elves, she began flipping through the pages. She felt Malfoy's occasional stare, but kept the direction of her eyes lowered.

After reading through the book, she returned it back to its place on the shelf, unsatisfied. Glancing higher into the ridiculously tall shelves, she noticed a few thicker books of interest, but the other ones were too high up to decipher. She pulled the rolling ladder towards her, clamping down her fear of heights. It wasn't even that high up, maybe ten feet. Firmly gripping the old wood, she climbed the steps slowly, and carefully. Hermione read the spines again, catching a few books on elf history and service. She slipped the book off the shelf, and added three more to her stack that showcased similar material. Determined to take the particularly interesting text on house-elves, she grabbed the spine and pulled. She realized a second later that she had slid the book too quickly, taking the other books that were stacked on top of it. For a terrifying moment, she watched in slow motion as the stack tipped over the edge of the shelf and began to fall straight towards her head. She pulled her face back, but it had been the wrong decision. The books came slamming down on her chest, causing her to lose grip of the ladder.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back, lying on the carpeted floor of the library. The right side of her head felt numb. She grunted incoherently, and muttered a stream of impressive curses when she felt her whole body respond in pain. There were several books on her face, and she tossed them off with extreme effort.

She heard footsteps round the corner. Damn, she had forgotten about him.

"Keep it down, will you?" she heard him yell. Then the footsteps stopped.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?" Malfoy finally asked; his face twisted between mock laughter and honest curiosity.

She threw another book off her neck and coughed. "What does it look like? I'm having a party with my books." She let the comment sink in before rolling her eyes. "I fell, Malfoy."

"Really, how dimwitted are you?" he eyebrows lifted. "I assume you tried to take multiple books down and they fell over the shelf."

Damn.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she glared. "Unless you're going to help me."

He seemed offended by the mere idea. "I will most certainly not help you."

"Then leave," she repeated, sliding another set of books off her torso.

"Actually, I don't think I will," he replied smoothly. "Someone needs to witness this and add to the list of reasons why you will forever be an insufferable know-it-all."

She growled at him, but was cut off by a muffled groan of pain as she tried to sit up. Her head exploded with pain, but she held back the tears. Book tumbles off her chest and fell onto the floor. Hermione silently prayed that Madam Pince didn't hear her crash to come running over and see all her precious books splayed over the floor.

"And what's with these old books?" he questioned; picking the one that fell near his foot. "Trying to find out how to fix your mudblood status?" He smirked.

"Hilarious," she responded. "I'm researching on elves. Did you know that there are a whole load of them here at Hogwarts?"

He raised an eyebrow at her lack of response. "So what of it?"

"It's slave labor!" she explained impatiently, getting to her feet and lowering the books she actually wanted on a table.

"Slave labor?" he repeated.

"Yes!" she said, sending back the other books with a wave of her wand. "They hardly have a voice in society, there are no rules in the ministry that protect them from mistreatment, and they are basically bound to their master, forced to carry out their commands!"

He didn't seem bothered by the fact at all. "They're elves, Granger. It's their job to serve."

"They should be getting paid, and have breaks!" she persisted. "It's maddening how no one bothers to stand up for them."

"I'd reckon they'd be offended by the gesture," Malfoy snorted. "Though I'm not surprised you don't understand that part of our culture, coming from incapable muggle parents."

She took a sharp breath. Call her a mudblood, tolerable. Accuse her parents of being incapable? That was not okay.

"Don't you dare say my parents are incapable!" she snarled, barely holding down her anger. "You don't know anything—coming from a family where everything was handed to you on a silver platter! Even your personality is handed down!"

His smirk faltered, a menacing scowl replacing it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, you dolt!" she spat. "Have you ever questioned anything for yourself? Why do you believe the things you believe, Malfoy—because your father told you? You're nothing but his copy! A chunk of clay for him to shape as he pleases because you don't give a damn—"

"Shut up!" he cut her off, whipping out his wand the next second. "It's you who doesn't understand anything! My father is a respectable man and you have no right to talk of him like that, filthy mudblood!"

Her first shook with rage. "A respectable man? The man who taught you that I'm lower than the dirt on your shoes that's better off dead!? Go on—curse me. I know your father wouldn't hesitate in your position." She closed the distance between them in two strides, letting his wand dig straight over her heart. "Prove me right. Make your father proud."

Hermione locked eyes with his grey ones, which were swirling with emotion: fury, hate, confusion, and surprisingly, refusal. Her chest rose with rapid breaths, and her hands shook with adrenaline. She waited for him to make his move. Her wand was still stored inside her robes, but she wasn't afraid, she had no room for fear at the moment.

After a moment of intense staring, Hermione felt warm liquid trail down her cheek. Her right eye vision began to blur. What the—was something leaking from the roof? She ignored it, not daring to wipe her face. Another streak trailed down her temple, she felt it linger under her chin before it dropped onto her white shirt, staining it red.

Malfoy's eyes widened, all his previous raging emotions now overwhelmed by alarm. He glanced at the side of her head, and slowly pulled his wand back. The skin over her heart stung where his wand had been pressed. He glared at her with furious eyes, but clenched his teeth and lowered his wand.

"Leave," he growled.

Shocked, she slowly raised a hand and pressed it against the side of her head, wincing as she came into contact with the warm liquid. She retracted her hand and stared at the red fluid that stained her palm. Blood was now rushing down the right side of her face, dropping onto her white shirt. Damn, she had probably hit her head on the edge of the table when she fell. Momentary shock had numbed the pain, but her adrenaline was dying down, and the injury was making its presence known painfully.

"I…" she muttered. Hermione glanced at her watch and inwardly cursed. She still had a half-hour before the two hours of her Time Turner was up. He other self was still in class.

_Remember the laws. _

Madam Pomfrey couldn't see her. If she went to the Hospital Wing, her other self would have to be excused from class, not to mention there would be other students that were currently in the infirmary. No one could see her.

"I can't." she finally answered, cursing her carelessness.

"Don't try to be bloody heroic," he scowled.

"I'm not...! I simply can't right now," she repeated firmly, clutching the side of her head. She shrugged off her outer robe and used it to press against the gash—_pressure_; she needed to stop the bleeding as much as she could.

Malfoy's expression was torn again between confusion and distaste.

"Suite yourself," he finally said. "I'm not the one bleeding to death."

Hermione was so sure he was going to walk off and resume his work. But he remained where he was, surprising her again. He simply stared at her, his cold grey eyes instantly reminding her of his father.

But they weren't the same person.

_See him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is._

She sighed.

"Look… Malfoy," her head was starting to spin with the loss of blood. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. You are not your father."

He regarded her with narrowed eyes, and for a second, she thought he would attack for good. She had been so shocked when he retreated his hand. Was it possible that it was because she lowered her wand last time?

"You don't know anything," he quietly snapped.

She shook her head and sat down. "True, but I do know that you chose not to curse me a minute ago when you had the perfect opportunity. That's enough of a difference for me."

"I don't get you, Granger," he remarked. "Why are you trying so hard to be gallant? It's not going to make a difference."

_Trust me, if Dumbledore didn't sign me up for this I would not be here. _She shook her head. That was wrong and she knew it.

"Because I don't think it's right," she explained instead. "You're hatred towards me is illogical. It's taught. Unless you'd so kindly explain why you'd rather see me dead."

He scowled. "There's nothing illogical about it. You don't come from a magical family; it was a mistake. Not to mention you hang out with Potter and Weasley day to day. What's not to hate?"

"Don't speak as if my company determines who I am," she bit back. "Besides, that's fresh coming from you who has the two biggest airheads of our year following you around like lost puppies."

The corner of his lips twitched higher, and she could have sworn he looked amused for a split second. She must have been hallucinating from the loss of blood.

"They're not with me now, are they?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Neither are Harry or Ron," she retorted. "Also, are you implying that magic made a mistake in choosing me?"

"Yes," he replied immediately. "You guys are the reason why squibs are born into magical families. You steal their magical birth right."

Her jaw lowered. That was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard, it was almost funny.

"How in Merlin's name would I steal magic?" she asked with incredulity. "That sounds ridiculous and you know it."

He glared at her. "I wouldn't know, I'm not a muggle after all. But it's not illogical. You come from a different world. This isn't the one you belong in."

That stung. She winched at his rejection but steadied her thoughts.

"Look, Malfoy, your statement is illogical because first of all, there are much more muggle-born witches and wizards than there are squibs. Mathematically, it doesn't add up." She smiled slightly. "Secondly, magic can't be stolen, and you know it. It can be diminished, weakened, strengthened, partially given, but it cannot be forcibly taken. Really—if I could steal your magic, wouldn't I have done that by now? Wouldn't the whole ministry be run by magic stealing muggles? See how ridiculous that sounds?"

"No," he replied after a moment of hesitation. "You're lying. That's what you muggle-borns made up to justify your situation and hope to fit in."

"I'm not lying," she insisted, noticing that he had used the term muggle-born for the second time instead of mudblood. "Look it up yourself. It's there, it's explained and most of all: it's logical. If you're going to live your life around the idea that purebloods are better than everyone else, then you best believe it's one hundred percent true. Don't simply take it at face value because that's what you were told."

For the first time in their conversation, Malfoy looked—for lack of a better word—speechless.

Hermione glanced at her watch again, thanking every deity that her half-hour was up. She rose from her sitting position, feeling her head reel with the loss of blood.

"Anyway, my time is up," she said. "I'm going to the Hospital Wing. Thanks for not hexing me."

He made some kind of undecipherable grunt and scowled.

Without another word, Hermione scurried off and stumbled out of the library and to Madam Pomfrey. A few students gave her curious glances as she hurried to the Infirmary, her head reeling with the conversation with Malfoy. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and decided she would reflect upon it when she had blood to spare.

To say Harry and Ron were on the floor dying would have been an accurate statement presently. She had just returned to the common room after getting a thorough scorn from Madam Pomfrey, and the moment she explained that books had fallen on her while she was in the library, the two boys burst out in laughter, Divination homework be damned.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry, clutching his stomach. "It's just always something we joke about, and to see it happen—"

He burst out laughing again. Ron was no help either.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Yes, she thought it was quite funny as well, but the second she told them that Draco Malfoy had been with her and had his wand pointed in her direction, with blood gushing down her face, the story wasn't so funny anymore.

"You boys are ridiculous," she simply said and stalked off. Hermione had homework to finish and essays to write, and she wanted to stay ahead as much as possible before the tournament started.

.

It was the second week of November when Hermione was able to find the energy to sit down and talk to Malfoy again. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived the week before, and the Goblet of Fire had been placed for students to enter. Hermione had thought the dramatics revolving around the tournament was finally over, until Harry's name was called.

It was all down hill from there.

Ron was having a jealous fit, the other schoolhouses—particularly the Hufflepuffs—seemed to avoid them now. No one in Gryffindor believed in Harry's protests that he indeed, did not put his name in the goblet, but her, and honestly, she was tired of trying to be the middle player between him and Ron.

Harry was constantly upset, Hagrid was determined to get everyone on a nice walk with their blasted skrewts, and Malfoy was being an arrogant arse as usual. It seemed that the only time he was actually tolerable, was when he was alone in the library.

"Really, Malfoy," Hermione slammed her palms against the table he was sitting at. "Did you have to provoke Harry?"

It had been a week since Malfoy _accidently_ hexed her after calling her a mudblood and riling Harry's anger. The only good thing about the occasion was letting Madam Pomfrey shrink her teeth smaller than they originally were.

He looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. "I see your teeth are back to normal. Though as Snape said there wasn't much of a difference—"

"Shut it," she growled, losing control over her temper. She was simply on the edge with everything lately.

His left eye twitched but he made no motion in pulling out his wand and blasting her from the table. Why couldn't he act like this usually?

"Look, I have to ask—" she said, finally noticing that he wasn't wearing the POTTER STINKS badge on his robes. She sat down on the other side of the table with a plop.

"Granger—do not sit at my table," he frowned. "I don't want anyone to see that I'm willingly sitting here with you."

"Oh grow up, will you?" she rolled her eyes. "There's no one around. Now will you please listen to me?"

"No," he curtly replied.

"Do you really think Harry entered himself in the tournament?" she asked anyway.

"Of course," he sneered. "That's all Potter wants. More attention."

Hermione bit her lip but kept her temper in check. "Malfoy, do you think Harry is particularly smart? Magically talented and respectable?"

He looked disgusted. "Bloody hell, no. Potter wouldn't be able to tell the difference between—"

"Exactly my point!" she interrupted. He scowled at her. "Think. Do you honestly believe that Harry has the magical abilities to firstly cross over the age line—made by Dumbledore, mind you—_and _somehow fool a powerful magical object that's as ancient and esteemed as the Goblet of Fire?"

He went silent for a minute. Hermione could see the gears in his brain working, his grey eyes shifting with thought.

"I suppose not," he finally muttered. "But it doesn't change the fact that Potter had something to do with his entering. Probably asked someone older—"

"Come off it," she scoffed. "Harry wouldn't do that. Someone's out there and intentionally put his name into the goblet! These are dangerous, risky events that he has to face!"

"And why are you telling _me_, Granger?" his lip curled in distaste. "I'm not going to walk up to Potter and give him a comforting pat on the back."

Hermione snickered at the mental image. She could not for her life, imagine Malfoy doing anything like that.

"It's because you're the only one with the brain to understand," she said honestly.

He smirked. "Finally getting tired of your half-witted house company? About time."

She shook her head. "I may be an insufferable know-it-all, but I'm not blind, Malfoy. I know you're right behind me in our year."

"Did Granger just give me a compliment?" his eyebrows raised. "Have you been hit in the head? Oh wait—you were."

She glared at him. "I'll have you know, my head is still in perfect condition."

"Questionable," he said. "You haven't been raising your hand every ten seconds in class."

Hermione fought off her blush, trying to keep the glare in place. It was true. After her short flight of self-discovery, she decided to completely come to terms with her family and her blood. It was a working effort, and trying to keep her hand down when she knew the answer no one else did, was far more difficult that she thought. She had to constantly remind herself there was nothing to prove. Nothing to show off. There was no need to try and justify something that didn't need to be justified.

"You noticed me?" she asked, trying to sound disgusted but came out rather teasingly. Hermione knew she was walking in dangerous waters, but he had surprisingly been very civil.

"It's difficult not to," he replied smoothly. "Your terrible excuse of what you call hair constantly blocks my view of the blackboard, and your imperious tone of voice is nearly impossible to block out—"

Her jaw dropped, just as she thought he was going to compliment her, he turned it around completely an insulted her instead. She should have known. Expecting a nice comment or gesture from Malfoy came as often as a Leap Year.

"Of course," she muttered, ending the conversation.

She grumbled to herself and leaned back into her chair. For the next hour, Hermione simply sat there, and Malfoy returned to doing his homework. He hadn't told her to leave, and she was trying her luck. She knew he didn't forget about her presence because he would glance up occasionally and sneer at her, as if to ask why she was still there. But he never voiced the thought, so she stayed.

She closed her eyes and thought of the tournament. Harry was going to need all the help he could get.

.

Hermione was starting to get tired. She had been helping Harry with the Summoning charm every spare moment she had, which wasn't much. She was briefly tempted to use the Time Turner to send them back a few hours to practice more, but cut the thought almost immediately. Going back in time was strictly to help Malfoy, and she wouldn't betray Dumbledore's faith in her to keep the Time Turner if she was going to use it for other reasons.

After nearly clawing her face apart in during the first task, she felt immensely relieved to see Harry reach the egg successfully and finish without much harm. Even Ron had decided to come around after she had given him a piece of her mind. To add to her relief, the next task was set on February twenty-fourth, so they had plenty of time to rest and focus on their studies.

There was an explosion of cheers and victory banners all over the Gryffindor common room. Hermione joyously celebrated with everyone else, allowing herself a moment to relax after three stressful months of dealing with Malfoy, Harry and her studies.

To top it all off, she finally found the location of the Hogwarts' kitchen and the way to get in. She was brimming with excitement when she saw Dobby in there; she rushed off to catch Harry and Ron, practically pulling them by their ears to follow her back.

Things were looking up for her. Hermione spent more time in the library just for the sake of reading, Malfoy was still being tolerable when she was able to see him without the library being overflowed with students, Harry wasn't in any mortal danger at the moment, and she had received an O on her last potions essay. It seemed that Snape rather appreciated her lack of class participation and the shortening of her essays, writing to exactly 48 inches as he asked.

It was Saturday afternoon and after finishing all her work that was due for next week, Hermione decided to spend the rest of her evening in the library. She wanted to read more on the situation with elves, and be away from the ever-loud Gryffindor tower.

Making her way to the third floor, she swept through the library doors and took in the old smell of parchment and books. She had momentarily forgotten how much she enjoyed going to the library without having to deal with Malfoy. She walked immediately to the reference section where she previously fell off the sliding ladder and struck her head on a table. Now that was a grueling day.

Glancing up at the high shelves, she spotted a few spines she wanted to retrieve. She honestly didn't trust herself on the ladder anymore, so she pointed her wand at the book, and concentrated.

"Accio!"

Needless to say, summoning a book in a tightly enclosed space with other books wasn't her greatest idea. The text she wanted, along with two on either side of it flew off the shelf.

Feeling her heart drop, she yelped as she saw the summoned book fall straight towards her hands, while the two toppled off the shelf backwards. She caught her summoned book with ease and lifted it above her head, inwardly apologizing to the book for using it as a shield from the other two.

They never came. She saw a blur of black from the corner of her eyes, and two hands reaching out to expertly catch the falling books with a snap. Hermione lifted her head, growing wide-eyed as she saw Viktor Krum standing above her, each hand clasping a book.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his accent thick accent and deep voice sounding strange in her ears.

"Yes," she replied, lowering the book. "Er—Thank you."

He handed her the two books and she took them, feeling utterly embarrassed. At least it wasn't Malfoy. Actually, the git would have probably let the books hit her.

"You are Harry Potter's friend, yes?" He gave her smile. "Hermy-own?"

"Hermione," she corrected.

"Hermy-ne-own?" he tried again.

She held back a laugh. "Close enough… Viktor?"

He nodded, looking quite relieved she knew his name. "Vot are you reading?"

"House-elves," she replied surprised that he was curious to ask. She glanced at the group of girls at the end of the section. They glared at her and whispered to each other. She raised an eyebrow. "You know, it looks like your fan club doesn't like me standing so close to you."

There was a flash of annoyance on his face. "I am sorry about them," he mumbled. "They follow me every vere, it is most difficult."

Hermione saw him look genuinely troubled, and for a moment, she actually felt bad for him. Those girls must have been following him the moment he stepped off the Durmstrang ship. She had originally thought he was an arrogant guy who flaunted his popularity and relished in the fact that he was admired everywhere he went. To her surprise, Viktor Krum seemed quite withdrawn to it all. She gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Have you tried using the disillusionment charm?" she suggested quietly.

"The vot?" he lowered his voice as well.

She stared at him with surprise. Those in her year might have not learned it yet, but surly it was upperclassmen material—Hermione had read about it in the advanced charms textbook. She knew Durmstrang taught the Dark Arts, and it seemed that they didn't bother learning concealing charms. She glanced at the young seeker.

"Disillusionment charm," she repeated. "It makes you invisible—not perfectly—but it does its job, quite useful."

"I haff never heard of it," he replied honestly. "Durmstrang does not teach us spells like it."

"Would you like to see it?" she offered.

He nodded, seeming eager. He eyed the group of girls with distaste, but they were too distracted giggling to notice his discomfort.

Hermione pulled out her wand and lightly tapped Viktor's head. She could tell by his expression the exact moment he felt the egg crack over his head. The charm traveled down his body, and he melted into the background behind him.

There was a moment of silence as Hermione just stared at a seemingly empty lane between the bookshelves. She could only assume Viktor was occupied with testing the charm that he wasn't speaking.

The group of girls finally noticed he was no longer there, and whined rather loudly, clearly upset that he had left without them knowing. Madam Pince then came around the corner, shooing the girls and scowling at them for the noise. They left hurriedly wondering out loud where he could have gone.

Hermione sighed and silently thanked Madam Pince for staying ever so strict. She turned back to the place Viktor should have been standing and reached out slowly with her hand, hitting his body with her fingers.

"Oh good, you're still here," she pat what she concluded was his shoulder. "I'm going to release the spell."

She flicked her wand in his general direction, and Viktor came back into view, a wide smile on his face. She retracted her hand back quickly, realizing that she had been patting his chest, and not his shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You do not haff to be sorry, Hermy-own," he replied. "That vos very—vot's the vord—impressiff! Yes, vill you teach me?"

"Sure," she agreed.

If he learned the charm, his fan group wouldn't be able to follow him everywhere, and in turn, the library would be quiet again.

Hermione spend the next few minutes going over the charm and the wand movement. Viktor caught on incredibly fast; being able the cast the spell on his first try. He wasn't the Durmstrang champion for his Quidditch skills that was for sure.

"Thank you, I vill use it veil," he gave her a large smile and Hermione could feel her previous assumptions about his melt. The man was like a giant teddy bear.

"Glad to help," she replied. "It's for catching my books earlier."

He seemed to blush lightly. "It vos nothing."

"Still," she insisted, checking her watch and grabbing the forgotten books. "I'm sure you have lots of research to do, I'll leave you be."

Giving him one last smile, she turned on her heel and walked away. She was surprisingly in a better mood after talking to him. She had been terribly mistaken about his character, and he had turned out to be a very likeable person.

Hermione sat at one of the empty tables and began to read through her acquired books. It felt wonderful to sit in a comfy chair and read to her heart's content. She definitely needed to spend more time away from the boys, Malfoy included.

* * *

A/N: I obviously don't have the perfect grasp on Draco's character but I am almost sure he wouldn't have cursed Hermione. Or would he? Tell me your thoughts.

Any who, here's to chapter 3! Writing this was actually a bit difficult. I was always curious as to how Viktor and Hermione started talking in the library so I thought they'd have a small exchange. The next chapter will be on the Yule Ball and the rest of winter break.

To my guest reviewer _Elased, _who mentioned about Hermione not aging during her petrification, I'm not entirely sure as well, but I would think the time caught up with her after she was un-petrified. If that isn't canonically true, then for the sake of my fic let's say that happened. T^T huhu

Cheers,

El


	4. Winter

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. T^T

* * *

Chapter 4: Winter

.

December came rolling in, and the school bloomed with the best decorations Hermione had ever seen in her four years there. She assumed that the staff wanted to show the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students that Hogwarts did not celebrate Christmas half-heartedly.

She sat in her usual spot of the library, thankful that it had been quiet for a few weeks. Viktor Krum's fan club seemed to give up waiting for him in the library after realizing that he was no longer in there. Hermione smiled, knowing that he was probably around, using the charm religiously. The girls had gotten more and more vicious after the Yule Ball had been announced, and they were practically throwing themselves at him in the hallways when he wasn't charmed.

Flipping through another page of _History of Magical Creatures: House-elves,_ she barely heard the whisper behind her.

"Hermy-own."

Snapping out of her book, she turned around at the familiar voice, and the unmistakable way her name was pronounced. She glanced towards the direction of the voice, but saw no one.

A second later, Viktor appeared a few feet ahead, his wand over his head. He seemed strangely nervous.

"Viktor?" she blinked. "Er—hello." She honestly thought she would never talk to him again.

"Hallo," he greeted, walking towards her. "Ver you reading on elves again?"

She nodded, still curious as to why he was talking to her. "And I see you've been using the charm well."

He nodded too. "Veil yes, it has helped me a lot. I don't know vie I didn't look for a spell like this before."

"That's good," she smiled. "I noticed your fan club have been especially horrendous since the Yule Ball announcement."

He shifted his weight from side to side and gave her a sheepish smile. "Actually, Hermy-own, I vonted to ask you—veil, vould you go to the Yule Ball vit me?"

Hermione took a sharp breath and stared at him wide eyed. Had she heard correctly? Did Viktor Krum really ask her to be her partner for the ball?

"To the ball? M-Me?" she pointed at herself.

He nodded eagerly, looking completely serious. His dark eyes seemed to silently plead with her. Hermione felt a blush creep across her cheeks.

"Uhm—yes, I would like that," she answered quietly, biting her lip. "I mean—yes, I'll go with you. Oh Merlin…"

She raised her hand to her face and awkwardly wiped her cheeks, feeling them flare.

Viktor seemed to breath in relief and gave her a wide smile.

"You may not believe me, but I haff been coming to the library to try and talk to you Hermy-own." He looked rather embarrassed at the confession.

Her jaw lowered again. "R-Really? Oh… but why me? I mean, I'm just an insufferable know-it-all—"

"No, no," he shook his head, looking insulted. "You are a vonderful girl, you are different. You did not try to talk vit me for my fame, and you are very smart and kind."

Hermione blushed deeply, feeling her heart beat accelerate. She didn't think anyone had talked about her like that, or even complimented her with such assurance. Her insides squirmed with happiness.

"Thank you, Viktor…" she mumbled, unable to meet such honest eyes.

He approached her more confidently, a smile on his face. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly. Hermione choked.

"I haff to go now," he explained, setting her hand back on the table. "But I vill see you at the ball, Hermy-own. I vill be vaiting at the ship."

She forced her head to nod. "Okay."

He gave her another dashing smile before casting the disillusionment charm over his head, and disappearing from view.

It was a few minutes later that Hermione was able to start breathing again. She pat her chest reassuringly, telling herself that Viktor Krum had really asked her to go to the ball. She was secretly hoping Ron would ask her, but when she gave it some thought, he probably didn't even consider her as an option. And she definitely wasn't going to go with him as his last choice, when he finally figured out she was a girl.

Raising her knees to her chest, she sighed. It was almost ironic—really, the single most sought out man Hermione had ever seen in Hogwarts had asked her to attend the ball with him. She was sure girls would have killed to be in her position. There was a small bubble of happiness in her heart, knowing that Viktor saw her for who she was, bushy-headed and a total book nerd living in the library, but he had genuinely asked for her to accompany him. It was a wonderful feeling.

Smiling, she decided to at least inform Ginny about it, and stood from her seat. She returned the book to its proper place, scanned around her area to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, and took off.

Ginny was gaping like a fish after Hermione had informed her of her new date, her face was twisted into an expression of shock and delight. She released a nervous laughter when the red head asked what kind of look she was going for.

"Er—I haven't really thought about it," she replied honestly. "My mum picked out this light blue dress for me—never thought I'd actually wear it though."

"Hermione!" Ginny looked taken aback. "You must! Let me see this dress, I'll help you."

Feeling rather nervous about the young Weasley aiding her, Hermione flipped her trunk open and gently pulled out the blue dress that had been sitting under everything else. Her friend gasped and squealed quietly as she gazed at it, her eyes flashing with ideas.

"Ginny, I'm thinking of just—I don't know—something natural?"

She just nodded and mumbled under her breath, not listening to her. "I've got the perfect look for you! Just trust me on this. You'll look absolutely stunning!"

Hermione cleared her throat and gulped down her sudden anxiety. Maybe it wasn't such as good idea to inform her.

.

The week before the Yule Ball, Malfoy finally decided to return to the library. For the last few weeks, she had simply followed him down to the Quidditch pitch or watched him walk back into the Slytherin common room. He went to the lake one time, sitting there by himself while Hermione simply watched him do nothing. It was incredibly aggravating just standing there, but she thought it would be too strange for her to walk up to him and start conversing like they were old friends. It just didn't work like that.

The term was officially over, so she hadn't bothered to use the Time Turner. She was able to get away from Harry and Ron relatively easily, and staying out of sight after that was also within her new skill set. Unfortunately, trying to find Malfoy was a lot harder than she thought.

Hermione watched with narrowed eyes as Malfoy walked through the double doors of the library. It was Christmas break, and she doubted that he was going to do any reading for future classes. Her surprise grew even more as she noticed him stop by the muggle study section. She clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp, and watched, as he seemed to carefully read through the spines and pulled out three books off the shelf.

Malfoy strode over to his usual table by the large window and sat, cracking the books open with a quiet sigh. Hermione didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream in joy. Draco Malfoy was reading books on muggles. The sky was falling.

She continued to observe him for the next hour, catching every shift in his expression, or the tightly concealed emotion in his eyes. What exactly was he reading anyway? Hermione had no desire to interrupt him, but curiosity was pushing her towards the edge.

His eyebrows suddenly furrowed deeply, and he shot up from his chair, leaving his finger between the pages before the shutting the book. Hermione jumped back instinctively, wondering what had gotten into him. He bolted from the table and left. Curious, she followed him silently, making sure to leave a good distance between them. He cut a few corners and came to sudden stop, gazing at an empty table. There was clear disappointment in his eyes as if he had expected something to be there. She followed his line of sight and nearly choked when she realized he was staring at the table she usually sat in.

She breathed.

It's just a coincidence.

He just couldn't have known. She never saw him in the library other than during his free periods, so there was simply no way he knew which table she constantly sat in.

Malfoy approached the table slowly. He seemed incredibly hesitant and glanced around the area as if he hadn't given up his spontaneous search. His fingers trailed over the wood of the desk and eyed the cushy red chair with distaste.

It was impossible. If she told herself Malfoy knew that was the table she always sat in, it meant he had gone there to look for her.

She furiously shook her head. That was absurd. There was no way he was looking for her, and there was no way he knew she sat there usually.

But it was a slim possibility, very small, but still possible.

Her instincts were screaming that she was correct, but her logical side tried to tell her otherwise.

In the end, she decided to simply go for it—her curiosity was overwhelming her logical side, and she desperately wanted to know what he wanted to say, or why he was there. Besides, there wasn't really anything to lose was there?

Deciding to head back to Malfoy's table instead, she silently released the charm and sneaked off before he decided to stop searching for her—or whatever he was looking for.

She sat down at the opposite side of the table and glanced at the other two books Malfoy had picked. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the spines of _Muggle Culture and Lifestyle without Magic, _and _Magical Theory of Muggle-borns. _Hermione had never bothered to read the books herself—seeing as there was no point—but she couldn't stop her heart from pounding against her chest. How did the magical community perceive muggles anyway? What if these books were the reason why so many witches and wizards misunderstood them and held onto their prejudices to the bitter end?

She was pulled away from her musings when she heard impatient footsteps approach her. Hermione held her breath and kept her head down, opening the second book on magical theory. The footsteps came to a sudden halt, and she barely caught the sound of a sharp breath being taken.

For a second, she thought she had been mistaken, but the assumption was trashed the next moment.

"Granger."

Biting down her smile, she turned her head sharply as if she was surprised. Malfoy was standing far end of the section, book still in his hand, and was looking at her as if she had died and came back to life.

"Malfoy?" she slightly frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The strange look disappeared the next second, replaced by his usual cold gaze.

"I could say the same," he narrowed his eyes. "Unless the rumors were true and you really do live in the library. I'm surely not surprised."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I only just got here. And you didn't answer my question."

"And I'm not planning to," he curtly replied. "Now go sit somewhere else, you're in my place."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to sound surprised. "You were sitting here?" Hermione held up the two other books he left behind. "Then are these yours?"

There was a flash of panic in his eyes, but he masked it very quickly. She knew she would have missed it if she weren't waiting for it; he was good, she inwardly smirked, but not good enough.

"No," he denied, inching the book in his hand behind his back. "They were already there. I'm not going to put them back because some lousy kid didn't want to."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her smile. She didn't know why, but Malfoy in denial was rather funny to watch. Especially when she knew he was lying.

But she realized after a few moments that she had failed—Malfoy reverted back to his cold expression instead of opening up the reason why he was reading muggle books. Something went wrong. Maybe he really wasn't looking for her. It was a fat chance after all. It dawned on her a second later that she had possibly appeared in the wrong place. By walking to his table and catching him red-handed with muggle study books, she had cornered him.

Setting the book down, she inwardly slapped herself. Damn, she should have simply sat elsewhere. Malfoy was probably killing his pride to pick these books up in the first place, and having her find them in his usual seat was not the way to go.

"Oh," she finally said, feeling incredibly angry with herself. "Well… then why are you still at school? Term is over."

Malfoy hesitantly walked over to the table and sat down at the other end, setting the book in his lap away from view. He scowled at her, as if he didn't want to be there.

"Yule Ball," he reminded, and then smirked. "Though I doubt you thought of that, seeing as no one asked you."

Her thoughts trailed to Viktor again and she lightly smiled. "What makes you think that?"

Malfoy barked a humorless laugh. "That's not even a good joke, Granger."

"It's not a joke," she said, her face turning serious. "I was asked."

His eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh that's right, I heard Longbottom asked you, but you rejected him. Rather cruel, no?"

"I was asked before that! And I said yes if you couldn't figure that out." she hissed, losing control of her already beaten temper. "And since when do you care if Neville is subjugated to cruelty? You don't understand anything."

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "You're delusional. I'm sure only Longbottom asked a mudblood because he has no brains."

"How very clever of you, Malfoy," she spoke through her teeth. Hermione slammed her hand on the table and rose from her seat.

_Damn it all! I messed up. _

She turned sharply on her heel and walked away. Malfoy yelled some obscenity after her but she continued her strides, determined not to ruin the rest of her efforts. She could have easily told him off by saying she saw him in the muggle section, but that would have killed everything she had ever built with Malfoy—which wasn't much—but it was clear he was treating her a bit differently when they were alone in the library, compared to when they met in the hallways with his goons.

Hermione growled in anger, but mostly at herself. The moment she realized she had taken a step too early, she had let Malfoy's usual taunts get under her skin. Honestly, it had been four months since she started the task, but she was still unable to completely rein in her emotions and control her flaring temper.

Sighing, she shifted her thoughts to better things: Harry coming out alive and unhurt from the tournament, Ron cheering on Harry, Viktor complimenting her. She smiled at the last thought; Viktor had been the most surprising gentleman, and it pleased her to know that at least he didn't see her as a lowly muggleborn. Her anger began to calm, and by the time she reached the Fat Lady, her thoughts on Malfoy were gone.

"Password?" she asked.

"Fairy Lights," she answered and stepped inside the common room.

Thinking of Viktor made her slightly nervous. She would have to start taming her hair on Saturday night, and try out that skin scrub Ginny had let her borrow. Pursing her lips, Hermione made climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory and decided to skip dinner, Merlin knew she wasn't going to stuff her face in anxiety. She _was _eating due to slave labor after all.

.

Sunday came much too quickly. The entire school seemed to be buzzing with excitement for the Yule Ball. Girls were chattering like crazy in groups, giggling and describing their dresses throughout the halls. Surprisingly, the boys weren't any better. Harry was tripping over his own feet trying to learn how to dance; Ron was horrified at the prospect of wearing the formal robes his mother had given him, and poor Neville was a stuttering mess. Parvati and Lavender had started getting ready at six in the morning, even though the Ball didn't start until later that night. Hermione simply rolled over in her bed and folded the pillow over her ears, trying to get at least another hour of rest.

Breakfast was served as usual, the tables having a little more room after the students who were third year and lower had left for the holidays. She, Harry and Ron had spent time in the tower after, opening Christmas presents and laughing at each other's sweaters. There was the yearly snowball fight that took place at the grounds, but Hermione stayed to the side, watching as another ball of snow flew its way to Ron's face—courtesy of Fred.

Hermione glanced at her watch, noting it was already five, and waved goodbye to the boys, saying that she had to get ready for the ball. She brushed off another attempt to know who her date was from Ron, and scurried up to the Gryffindor tower.

Knowing that Parvati and Lavender would be ramming her with questions, she slid the curtains around her bed and set them in place so she wouldn't be bothered. She pulled out a large mirror, her dress and a few products Ginny had let her borrow. She slathered the hair cream over her locks, amazed how well it worked for her usual bushy hair. Her hair calmed into softer waves and she cast a curling charm that Ginny had taught her. It took her nearly two hours before her hair was set correctly, twisted into an elegant bun at the side of her head. Dropping her tired arms she sighed with exhaustion. Her roommates giggled and chattered about their dates, the perfect night, and their dresses, but Hermione simply sat in her bed, feeling very nervous.

After a few minutes of rest, Hermione popped open a thin book that Ginny had lent to her about applying magical makeup properly. She flipped to the natural look she wanted and picked up the unfamiliar tools, eyeing the directions and following the moving pictures to the right of the text.

When another hour had gone by, Parvati and Lavender left the room. Hermione didn't want anything to see her leave because she would have to meet Viktor where the Durmstrang ship was docked.

She slid out of bed and released the spell on her curtains, sending them back to the columns with another wave of her wand. She straightened out her dress and slipped on the heels she never thought she'd wear. Taking a few deep breaths, she began to walk around the room, practicing her posture and stride.

_Chin up. Neck long. Core tight. _

Her mum's words constantly rang in her ears and she smiled. After checking that the Gryffindor Tower had indeed been cleared of its inhabitants, she practiced her walk down the stairs and slipped out of the portrait.

The hallways were thankfully empty, but she could hear the excited chatter of voices as she passed the Great Hall. She walked towards an open archway where she spotted the enormous ship, and a horde of Bulgarian men clad in similar red robes. She approached them slowly, casting a quick warming charm over herself and avoided the snow on the walkway. There were a number of girls within the group, but none of them seemed to recognize her.

"Hermy-own!"

She turned to the right, seeing Viktor emerge from the group of Durmstrang men. He was smiling at her and bowed. Hermione held back a giggle and took his hand.

"Vow, you look very beautiful," he gave her a shy smile.

Hermione smiled back. "Thank you, you look quite striking yourself."

Just then, a man behind Viktor shouted something in Bulgarian. He turned sharply and replied back with a warning tone. The group laughed and Viktor just shook his head. Their Headmaster then appeared behind the group, his robes swishing behind him in a manner very similar to Snape.

He seemed to eye her with distaste, but turned his chin away, walking in front of them.

"Let us go," Karkaroff barked. "Viktor, to my right."

Hermione grasped Viktor's elbow and followed him to the headmaster. The man then led the entire Durmstrang group back into the castle and straight to the Great Hall.

They entered through the large double doors, and Hermione held her breath. She focused on her walk and briefly looked around the Hall, admiring the beautiful decorations that had been set up. She could feel every eye on her and Viktor. Harry and Ron seemed to look past her without a second glance, she noticed Ginny giving her a small smile and Neville looking far more nervous than ever.

She peaked over to the familiar mess of white blonde hair to her left, catching his gaze. Malfoy was staring at her with the same expression she had seen in the library; his intense grey eyes swirling with expertly concealed emotion. He had recognized her at least. Feeling a rush of boldness, she arched her eyebrow and flashed him a smile. Pansy Parkinson who was standing next to him gave Hermione a look of utter disbelief. Inwardly shrugging, she held her shoulders back, her neck long, and smiled as she faced forward again. McGonagall called all the champions forward.

She walked up with Viktor and waved at Harry and Parvati, both who finally seemed to see her and gaped, glancing back between her and her partner. They followed McGonagall to a large round table at the top of the Hall, and the music began to play.

Viktor snaked his arms around her waist and took hold of her hand. She let her free hand sit on his shoulder and allowed him to lead their dance. Much to her surprise, he was a very graceful dancer, twirling her between his grasp and moving smoothly through the floor, his red cap flowing behind him in a wave. He was beaming at her and Hermione couldn't stop the rush of laughter when he lifted her off the ground and spun her in the air. She barely noticed the jealous glares that were shot her way, or the sparkling decorations in the hall. Viktor set her down softy and twirled her for the last time before concluding the opening dance.

He led her to the top table where the food appeared according to the person's desire. She sat down next to Viktor and they began to lightly chat about the decorations, Hogwarts, then Durmstrang. It wasn't long until Viktor decided to get some drinks for them, and Hermione scurried over to Harry and Ron.

That had been a wrong decision.

Harry was the only one who greeted her while Ron was ever so red in the face, accusing her of fraternizing with the enemy. The warm feeling in her stomach disappeared with her argument with Ron, especially after he accused her of helping Viktor with the egg. How dare he assume that about her? Did he really think she would betray Harry? Did he believe she was that vile? Furious, she yelled at Ron in front of twenty other students and stormed off.

She walked over to the refreshment table and began nibbling on a mini éclair. Her anger rose up again when she heard a familiar voice in front of her.

"You shouldn't scowl Granger, it'll make your face uglier," he smirked. "Although I don't know how that's possible."

Malfoy was on the other side of the table, nonchalantly pouring himself a drink. He wasn't looking at her though. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sod off," she replied. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Oh—did Weasley make you angry?" he taunted. "Not too surprising after all, he can't charm a girl if his life depended on it."

For some strange reason, it felt satisfying to hear that from him. Not that she would ever admit that.

"For once, Malfoy," she said, opening her eyes. "I can agree with you on that. Although Viktor on the other hand—he's a completely different story."

The blonde's face darkened considerably. Hermione pretended not to notice, figuring that the prick was upset that he had been wrong.

"Krum, eh?" Malfoy sneered. "Never though you'd had it in you. What'd you slip him?"

She gritted her teeth and growled lowly. "I did no such thing. Viktor—unlike a certain arrogant prat that's standing in front of me—sees me for who I am, and not just my blood status. Shocking right?"

There was another flash of annoyance that ran through his grey eyes. His jaw locked by a fraction and his lips curved into a grimace.

"Well, I'm sure—"

"Herm-own-ninny!"

Hermione turned to see Viktor walking up to her, drinks in hand. She smiled at him warmly and took the glass he offered her. Malfoy's eyes hardened, obviously annoyed that he had been cut off.

"Thank you, Viktor," she took small sips of the drink, an ignoring Malfoy. At least he had the decency not to speak.

"I haff been looking for you," he finished his drink and set it aside. "Vould you like to dance again?"

She took his hand and grinned. "Of course."

He led her away and Hermione turned to give a quick glance at Malfoy. He had a murderous expression on his face that unnerved her for a second. Finally, he shook his head and stalked off. Slightly confused, she turned back to Viktor who had led her to the center of the dance floor. She pushed back those thoughts and smiled. She was not going to let Ron or Malfoy ruin her perfect evening. She set her hand on his shoulder and followed Viktor's lead, twirling away for the rest of the night.

.

The rest of December passed by without too many problems. She refused to talk to Ron after returning from the ball, but came to a silent agreement for Harry's sake and decided not to bring up the argument all together. The new term began in January, and Hermione was more than happy to slip into her usual routine.

She met with Viktor every now and then in the library, his fan club always losing track of him once he cast the disillusionment charm. After a few meetings, Hermione's heart stopped fluttering when he approached, and her stomach eased to squeal in girlish delight. She had learned quite a lot about him over the rest of the month, and had come to share the same feelings for him as she held for Harry and Ron.

Viktor was becoming a doting brother she never had. He began to grow out of his shyness and hesitation as he spoke, even teasing her about being so easy to find since she was always surrounded by books.

Hermione told him about her struggles and listened to his keen advice. He made everything so appear so simple and easy, it was a refreshing perspective for her tendency to overanalyzing everything. He was still three years older than her, and it was definitely nice to talk to someone older, but still close to her age—Fred and George sadly, did not count. Viktor's English improved more and more, even being able to pronounce her name correctly on more than one occasion. She had picked up a few Bulgarian words from him and smiled as she heard shouts of the foreign language in the halls and understanding what they were saying.

"You should visit Bulgaria this summer," he offered, after speaking about the wonders of his homeland. "The veather is much better in the summer."

Hermione's eyes lit up, her heart beating with excitement. "I would love to!" She would have given her right leg to visit, taking her entire summer to see the ancient architecture and magical buildings. Harry's face flashed through her mind. "—But… I'm sorry; I don't think I can anytime soon. I promised Harry that I'd be with him through everything—you know how he is, danger magnet and everything—"

Instead of looking disappointed, Viktor grinned as if he had been expecting it. "You are very loyal, Herm-own-ninny. I do not mind much. It is very—admirable? Yes, very admirable."

She sighed with relief. "Thanks, Viktor."

One day, she was going to visit, just not now. Hermione leaned back in her chair and settled for listening about the country instead. For now, that would do.

January passed quickly and the only bump in her road was Malfoy—as usual of course. She still hadn't spoken to him after the Yule ball, simply because he had been staying in the Slytherin dungeons every free period, leaving Hermione to stand outside the hidden portrait until her two hours were up.

She did a lot of thinking as she sat, mostly worrying about Harry's safety, Ron's sanity, and Malfoy's offensive attitude. If she were to be honest, he was getting more and more tolerable. It definitely wasn't much, especially after he had mocked Hagrid about his newly revealed half-giant heritage. Merlin, couldn't he look at anyone without considering their blood status?

For a brief moment, she genuinely pitied Malfoy. When she gave it thought, his situation was rather sad. He hardly cared for anyone but himself, his friends were only his friends because they were purebloods, and she was sure that when things got bad, they wouldn't hesitate to leave him and he would have no one to lean on. Malfoy was simply alone.

The moment that consideration passed, she remembered the awful git that he was, and went back to brooding over her situation.

She had impatiently snapped at Rita Skeeter in Three Broomsticks, angry that she was trying to write more nonsense about Harry after completely ruining Hagrid's life. That woman was possibly the most hateful attention-seeking liar Hermione had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Hagrid had practically locked himself up in his cabin, and wouldn't open the door until Dumbledore had done it for him.

The old headmaster had refused to take his resignation letter, adamant that the disclosure of his half-giant status was no problem and made sure Hagrid was to return to teaching tomorrow.

Hermione stood in his cabin and smiled brightly at Hagrid's tear stricken face. Dumbledore spotted her near the door as he made his way out. She nodded in greeting.

"How are you doing, Miss Granger?" he asked in a low voice as Harry and Ron were busy looking at the picture of Hagrid's father and listening to his story.

She considered for a second if he was talking about her well-being, or her mission. She decided to go with the latter.

"Surprisingly… all right," she mused. "It's not entirely noticeable… but I can feel it. I think."

The old wizard just nodded and looked at her with content. He leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. "Love… is much more powerful than you think. Just as you have shown acceptance to Hagrid, that same feeling must be given, even to those who you think are undeserving of it."

Hermione froze. Dumbledore just raised his head, and bid her farewell, his half moon spectacles doing nothing to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

Love and acceptance for Malfoy?

The thought alone was enough to bang her head against the wall to see if she was dreaming. How could she ever feel such a pure, committed, and loyal emotion for Malfoy? It was ridiculous. She constantly fought the urge to hex him whenever they talked, but to actually _enjoy _his company was a whole other level that she just couldn't imagine.

Choosing to think about the blonde later, she sat next to Harry and listened to the rest of Hagrid's story. After leaving him in better spirits, the three of them sprinted up the grounds back to the castle, leaving the cold winter air behind.

* * *

A/N: I think I covered over 2 months in one chapter, so I hope everything was still easy to follow. I know I said I'd skip over most of the book stuff but I really wanted to write about the happenings during the ball :3  
Am I going to use Viktor a lot from now? Probably not, sorry. He'll appear here and there in future chapters, but I don't have him planned to be a pivotal/central character if some sort.  
There'll be more Hermione and Draco interaction goodness in the next chapter so review review! :D I promise I'll finish and upload the next chapter a little earlier if you do ;)

Stay awesome,

El


	5. Progress, March on

Disclaimer: Do you guys still read this part? Probably not. huhu still don't own anything.

* * *

Chapter 5: Progress, March on

.

The next few weeks were spent pouring over more books than usual. Harry finally decided to take Cedric's advice and worked out the clue in the Prefect's bathroom. She scolded him after he reluctantly admitted he was lying and actually didn't figure out the second task from the egg until the then.

He and Ron accompanied her to her library trips, spending every free hour of the day trying to find a way for Harry to breath under water. It felt like they had looked through dozens of books each, but they still weren't able to find the answer. Hermione huffed in annoyance, but was determined. The library had never failed her in the past, and it wouldn't now, not when she was in dire need.

There just had to be some kind of charm to let Harry breathe underwater. She grumbled in frustration after tossing another book aside. Even after racking through her memory trying to remember if she had read about a spell like that anywhere, she finished empty-handed. There were hundreds of books in the library, and the chance that she hadn't read anything relating to it was quite high.

She was tempted again to use the Time Turner, but convinced herself it wasn't fair to use that ability. She was already walking on thin ice as it was.

Even if it wasn't for researching, Hermione still continued to use the magical clock on Wednesdays after History of Magic to try and talk to Malfoy. The second task was due to take place in two days and she felt silently thankful the blonde decided to go to the library that week.

She followed him inside, watching him sit at his usual table and pop open a few books with a roll of parchment in front of him.

Instead of waiting this time, she released the spell, walked over to his table and plopped down on the free chair with a sigh. She just didn't have the energy to scheme a conversation, so she might as well force her presence upon him.

Malfoy raised his head. "What do you want, Granger?"

"Nothing," she mumbled honestly, leaning back in the chair and gazing through the open window. She remembered they hadn't parted on exactly good terms at the ball, but then again, when did they ever part ways on good terms?

"Then leave," he demanded. "I can't do my essay with you sitting there."

"What are you working on?" she asked quietly, at least trying to attempt at a conversation before she left. Homework was always a good topic for her.

"Herbology." He waved at her dismissively.

Hermione stood up as if someone poured cold water down her back. How could she have missed it? She had been so focused on finding the right charm, she had completely forgotten about magical plants. Surly there was something that could help Harry breathe underwater.

He looked as if he couldn't choose between giving her a curious stare and glaring at her. He settled for the glare.

"Malfoy," she turned to him. "I take it back. You're amazing, thank you."

"What—"

She jumped from her chair and darted out of sight, pushing back his startled face to the back of her head. She practically leaped to the reference section, and walked straight to the shelf on Herbology, picking up a total of nine books all relating to magical plants that were specifically used to affect witches and wizards in some way shape or form.

Grunting from all the weight, she trudged back to Malfoy's table and dropped the books on the wood, heaving a breathless sigh.

Malfoy eyed her with a strange expression and glanced back at the books.

"Are you planning on staying _here_?" he pointed to the table and she nodded. "What's going on with you?"

She raised a tired eyebrow at him. "Yes. You just reminded me of something I had completely overlooked. So I'm reading here as thanks."

"Spare me," he requested. "If you want to thank me, go sit somewhere else."

She pursed her lips and set the books aside. As much as she wanted to dive into them straight away, she was currently in borrowed time on her mission, and helping Harry could come later.

"Malfoy do you honestly still believe that me sitting here is going to somehow taint you?" she asked. "Really—have you at least _tried _looking for your own answers?"

"No," he replied a little too quickly. Hermione frowned at his lie. "And not only that, but you're simply unwanted company."

"That's because you're only looking at my blood status," she argued. "Can't you see people for their character and not who their parents are?"

"Blood purity is far more important than character," he said darkly.

"Well it's not going to be important when we're all dead and six feet under." She shot back. "What are people going to remember you by? They're going to be at your funeral and talk about your blood purity and be done with it? They won't even know you."

"I am very much alive, Granger," he growled. "And I wouldn't care for trivial matters like that when I'm gone."

Her jaw lowered. He couldn't possibly mean that. Hermione locked eyes with him, determined to find the truth. Malfoy's face was set in an indifferent expression, but his grey eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"So you're just going to live your life deciding whether or not people or worthy to be in your presence by their heritage?" she said, feeling bitter. "You know later on, someone's going to say your name for the last time, and you'll be gone forever, with nothing to be remembered by."

His eyes widened by a fraction, and his lips pulled back into a thin line. He seemed to let her words sink in before picking up his quill again and looking down.

"I don't care."

Hermione never thought her heart would crumble with three simple words, but it did. She felt her throat tighten and her stomach clench uncomfortably. Why was he like this? Why didn't he care about anyone knowing the true him? She considered that thought for a moment, walking around with Harry and Ron, both of them unaware of her true character, and following her around because they pitied her muggle-born status. The thought was enough to make her chest burn. How could he live knowing that all people saw of worth in him was his last name and his blood purity? How could anyone live happily like that? She didn't understand him in the least.

Shaking her head, she sighed quietly.

"I care."

His hand stopped, and his shoulders tensed visibly. Hermione watched him carefully, knowing that this could be a breaking point. He didn't look at her, but frowned at his parchment instead, as if something offensive was written there.

"Yes," he said dryly. "I'm sure you'd love for people to say great things about you at your funeral—"

"I'm talking about _you, _Malfoy," she corrected, making herself clear. "Why can't you see that?"

He finally looked up at her and gave her a murderous stare. "Stop it. I can see it in your eyes, Granger. Don't give me that bloody pitiful look. I don't want it, and there is no reason for you to care."

"I'm not pitying you," she lied.

"Yes you are!" he raised his voice. "Don't deny it!"

"Deny?" she repeated, raising her voice as well. "Then you stop denying! I can see it in your eyes too! You question your beliefs. You're starting to see things with your eyes and not someone else's!"

"I don't!" he yelled, furiously slamming the table with his hand. "I don't question anything! I'm a pureblood and you're a mudblood. That's the way it has to be."

Hermione didn't even flinch. Under his rage, she could hear the desperation in his voice. That was all he knew. If she showed him something different, everything he had ever built around the idea would have shattered into unfixable pieces. He would be lost.

She took a few calming breaths and chose her next words carefully. "No… It doesn't have to be like that. There's so much more to people than just blood purity, Malfoy. Give it a chance… Don't you love your mother?"

His eye twitched, and he slowly retracted back his hand from the table. He didn't reply and simply looked right out the window.

"I love my mother," Hermione continued softly. "Sure, she may be a muggle, but there's something about the way she smiles at me when she's proud, or hugs me when I'm upset… or the way she used to tuck me in bed when I was younger and convinced me that I was the most special person to her… the little things. The aspects that make my mother—well, my mother."

Malfoy still didn't reply. He glanced out the window with a blank expression, but she could see the swirl of emotion in his stormy eyes, showing that he was listening to her.

After an eternity of silence, Hermione sighed quietly and decided to leave it for the day. She had done everything she could, but Malfoy still wasn't cracking. Bending, maybe, but he was far from ever understanding her view. And she was far from ever understanding his.

She slid the books back into her arms, and reached over to take the last book of the table when Malfoy's hand came slamming down on the cover, and stopped her from grabbing it. He stared at her, and for a split second, Hermione saw him with all his barriers lowered. His eyes held a soft look to them that she never thought he could have, and his face was free of his usual scowl.

"I know," he simply said.

The next moment, he took his hand off the book and picked up his quill. His face settled back into a seemingly permanent frown and he didn't speak another word.

But Hermione had heard enough. He knew what she was talking about, and admitted to it. She burned the memory of his soft expression into her mind, momentarily shocked that he was able to look so… tender. He genuinely cared for his mother, and that was all that mattered. He had taken a step into understanding her, and she had taken the same step towards him.

Only ninety-nine more steps to go.

.

When her time back was finished, Hermione grabbed the books she still hadn't read through, and dashed back to the common room. Her heart was thudding with excitement, both with Malfoy's words and her anxiety for finding the answer for Harry. She knew it was close, she could feel it.

"Banana Fritters!" she yelled breathlessly to the Fat Lady.

She raised an eyebrow at her again in curiosity, but let her pass with a swing of her portrait. She ran ahead again, crashing into Ron and Harry.

"Omph—what—'ermione?" She swung into Ron who fell back against Harry who didn't bother trying to hold their combined weights.

All three of them fell to the floor of the common room, Hermione dropping most of her books in the process.

"Bloody hell—"

"Sorry, sorry—" she pulled herself back. "I was in a rush—I think I found the answer, Harry!"

Both boys froze and looked at her in anticipation. They grabbed all the books she dropped and huddled around the table in the common room.

"Plants," she explained, pointing to one of the books. "We completely overlooked them thinking of charms! They have all sorts of magical effects and are used in tons of potions. I'm sure there's something that will help Harry breathe underwater."

Ron looked skeptical, but Harry had heard enough. He immediately grabbed the nearest book and began pouring through its contents.

"What made you think of plants?" Ron asked, grabbing a book for himself.

Hermione held her breath, realizing she couldn't exactly say Malfoy had given her the hint, even if he didn't know it.

"I saw a book briefly referencing them," she lied quickly. "Come on—we have a lot to go through, still."

The redhead mumbled but started reading through his book. Hermione turned back to her own text, speeding through the information on plant life cycles. Call it an internal hunch, but she was sure the answer was close.

A half an hour in, most of the Gryffindors were coming back from dinner. The common room began to fill up again, and Harry and Ron were starting to lose focus.

"You know, wouldn't Neville know more about this stuff?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't look up from her book. Ron answered instead.

"I reckon—he's the only one who get excited over each class. Is he back yet?"

A few moments later, Neville walked through the portrait door, looking a bit flustered. Harry called him over to their table.

"Hi Harry," he smiled, peaking over at their books. "Are you guys researching on Herbology?"

"Actually—" he hesitated. Hermione could tell that he was considering how much to tell him. "Well, do you happen to know of any plants that can help you breathe underwater?"

Neville's face lit up. "Sure, there are lots of them. Which one do you want to hear about?"

All three of their faces rose immediately. Hermione glanced between Harry and Ron, both boys looking more alert than ever.

"Everything you can!" Harry said with urgency.

"Er—well all right, then." Neville looked a little surprised at their eagerness. "There's the, uhm, pessywhirl, which is a plant native to Romania, it creates little bubbles in your lungs that can help you breathe underwater, but you have to be careful not to take its brother, the pertlywhirl because it's poisonous. And there's a purple flower called wichens, if you mix them up with grebus herb, it blocks your nose and throat but creates an air supply so you can still go about without the need to breath. The monfre shrub is also a good one, it's extremely rare though—comes from the highest mountains of Russia—"

"Neville," Hermione interrupted. He looked a bit embarrassed. "You're doing great, but to make it easier, it might be better for us to tell you what exactly we're looking for so you don't have to go through every plant you know of—and well all know that you can—"Neville grew slightly pink and nodded. "We need something that's pretty common, we can't go hiking mountains or searching caves unfortunately. Also, the effect needs to last long, preferably an hour or more."

Neville's face scrunched up in concentration. "Then… something like… Gillyweed?"

All three of them looked at each other, none of them recognizing the name.

"What exactly does it do?" Harry asked.

"Actually, I read about it in the book Professor Moody gave me," he began. "It turns you into a fish—" Harry took a sharp breath. "—Er, not fully! It gives you gills and webbed feet, so naturally, you'll be able to breathe under water as well."

Hermione looked at Harry again, her eyes filling with hope.

"There's some gillyweed stored in the greenhouse, and I think the effect lasts about an hour." Neville finished, looking uncertain.

"Neville, that's perfect—"

"You're amazing—"

"It could work! Brilliant—"

All three of them stood from their chairs, smiling at Neville. The poor boy seemed overwhelmed.

"Er—all right," he gave them a shy smile. "Glad I could help."

"We're going _now_—" Harry declared.

Leaving all the books behind, the trio dashed out of the common room. Harry said thanks again, Ron patted his back, and Hermione flashed Neville a smile. The boy was going places.

They dashed down seven flights of stairs and leaped through the open archways of the castle, navigating to the greenhouse on the grounds. Harry seemed to hold his breath as he ran down, his eyes blazing with hope.

After reaching the Herbology greenhouse, they searched through the numerous counts of plants, herbs, weeds and shrubs. Hermione yanked her hand back from the snapping plant that looked especially vicious, and avoided the others that were making strange noises or moving their arms around in an attempt to try and grab them. Harry was the first to call 'I found it!' leaving her and Ron to dash towards his place. He held up a clear jar with the word 'gillyweed' marked on its cap.

Harry twisted the white top off and hesitantly reached inside, pulling out the topmost ball of greyish tentacles. It was about the size of a ping-pong ball, sitting unmoving in Harry's palm.

For a moment, the three of them said nothing.

"So… you reckon I just… eat it?" his face scrunched up in obvious distaste.

"I would think so," she supplied. "Maybe, oh I don't know—do a little bit more research on it?"

"I suppose," he mumbled back.

Ron just looked at the weed with disgust. She shook her head and waved her wand, conjuring a small jar for Harry to drop the magical plant in. He corked it with his free hand and slipped it into his outer pocket.

Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Either way, I think this will work. Hermione, you're a genius for thinking about plants—Ron, you too. I think you read more books in last two weeks than you have in the past three years combined."

The red head laughed humorlessly, claiming that he was never going to read that many books again. Hermione simply smiled at Harry, trying to push Malfoy's face into the back of her mind.

It was the evening before the second task when Fred and George called Hermione and Ron to McGonagall's office. They were sitting in the common room, Ron was close to beating Harry in a game of chess and Hermione was finishing up her essay that was due next week. She exchanged glances with the redhead, but he seemed as clueless as she was.

"What for?" she asked first.

The twins shrugged. "Don't know, she didn't look very pleased though."

Hermione tried to remember if they had done anything worth punishment. She snorted, thinking of all the things she had helped the boys with, over half of them probably highly illegal. There didn't seem to be anything McGonagall could reprimand them for if she didn't already, so it definitely wasn't because they were in trouble.

Nodding at the twins, she set down her quill and Ron grumbled as he stepped away from the chessboard. Exiting the tower, the two made their way up to their head's office. After knocking, the wooden door swung open by itself and they walked inside, not surprised to see McGonagall at her desk looking more displeased than usual.

"Professor you wanted to see us?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes," she gestured to the chairs. "Please sit." Hermione picked the red one, while Ron sat in the light purple one next to it. "You two are going to asked to participate in the second task that is taking place tomorrow. I am sure Mr. Potter told you about the egg's message?"

Hermione gave a look at Ron, and they both nodded.

"We will take what you will sorely miss…" the professor reiterated. "The two of you along with Miss Chang and Miss Delacour will be put into a deep sleep, and set at the bottom of the lake for your champions to come and retrieve. We assure you that no harm will come to you during that time, and will immediately wake up when you reach the surface."

Ron sat up straighter. "Why are we both here though? Harry can't have two people he needs to save."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, already knowing the answer.

"Miss Granger won't be there to be Mr. Potter's hostage." McGonagall explained. "She will be there for Mr. Krum."

Ron's eyes narrowed and he replied with a quiet 'oh'.

After a few moments of explanation, Hermione and Ron agreed to their participation.

"I suppose we can't go to Harry and inform him?" Ron questioned.

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Professor Dumbledore is on his way now and will cast the charm. And none of the other champions are aware of what is being taken from them."

Hermione forced down her anxiety, and took a steadying breath. Harry would be completely fine—he knew what he was doing. He would be okay.

True to McGonagall's word, their headmaster soon arrived with Cho Chang and a very young girl that looked no older than ten, but her features made her look strikingly similar to Fleur Delacour, she was no doubt, her sister. After giving them a pleasant greeting, Dumbledore began to call each of them forward, casting the spell and levitating the deeply asleep hostage to McGonagall. Hermione was the last to go.

The old wizard gave her a warm smile. "I hope all is well, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, glancing at Professor McGonagall from the corner of her eye. She recalled Malfoy's expression again, a small smile taking her lips.

"Better than before, I believe."

Dumbledore looked satisfied and tapped his wand on her forehead. Her vision blurred, making the last thing she saw was the bright twinkle in his clear blue eyes, looking as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.

.

The moment Hermione broke the surface of the black lake; she took a huge gulp of air, and pushed strands of her hair out of her face. The frigid winter wind blew against her wet face, causing the artic water to feel warm in comparison. Viktor was swimming next to her looking tired, his hand holding onto her arm, and the crowd was roaring with cheers. He swam to the end of the lake and helped her walk out. Thick blankets were immediately thrown over them, and she followed him to the side where Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang were resting, having obviously arrived minutes before they did. Surprisingly, Fluer was there as well, but alone. The champion was being looked over by mediwitches and wailing in French about her failure.

"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor turned to her. "Are you okay? Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right. Thanks for saving me so quickly. What did you use?"

He gave her a small smile but had a look of disappointment in his eyes. "I did human transfiguration, it vaz very difficult so it did not vork very veil…"

"Nonsense!" Hermione assured. "Human Transfiguration is very advanced spell work. The fact that I'm here is evidence of your skill."

Viktor shot her a grateful smile. Before he could speak again, the crowd erupted with noise and Hermione turned to see three heads pop out of the lake's surface.

Immense relief rushed through her whole body. She recognized Ron's alarming hair color against the dark water and Harry's glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose. It had worked! He was alive and had even brought the Fleur's hostage with him. The three of them wadded out of the lake and walked over towards them wrapped in thick blankets. Fleur ran up to the him spluttering dramatic thank you's and planting kisses on Harry's cheeks.

The scores were finally announced, leaving Harry to tie first place with Cedric. Apparently Dumbledore had talked to the Merchieftaness and had given extra points for having exceptional 'moral fiber' even though he had returned well after the hour time limit.

Viktor appeared disappointed again, and Fleur looked happy just to have her sister back.

Hermione squatted down and gave a reassuring pat on the Bulgarian's shoulder. "Viktor don't look like that, you did well."

His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I haff not done veil enough."

"Stop it!" she whisper yelled. What was it with boys and points? "You were great. Don't think that points determine everything. You're well alive and besides, there's still the third task."

Viktor just gave her a pout that utterly did not fit with the rest of his image. "I am still behind."

She gave him a sharp look, daring him to try and contradict her again. After all those weeks of talking, she knew he was under an immense amount of pressure from his school to make it out as the champion. If she were to be honest, she didn't even care who won, just as long as Harry made it out alive—Viktor as well.

He just sighed and raised an eyebrow, appearing slightly less disappointed with himself. Giving him another reassuring pat, she stood up and followed him back to Dumbledore where they would be dried off and sent back to the castle.

The common room was brimming was chatter, and everyone was curious as to what it was like underwater. Hermione simply told them that she had been in a deep sleep, and rolled her eyes as Ron fabricated a story of him fighting off merpeople while waiting for Harry to retrieve him.

Once the hype of the second task began to die down, she happily slipped back into her routine.

It was Friday, which meant double potions with Slytherin. As she neared the dungeons with Harry and Ron, she noticed a group of Slytherins crowding around something and snickering. Pansy Parkinson turned to her, a mocking smile on her face, and a copy of Witch Weekly in her hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and risked a glance at Malfoy. He looked a bit different, but she couldn't place it. The next second, Pansy threw the magazine at her which she caught reflexively.

"I think you'll find it quite interesting, Granger."

The Slytherins snickered again, but quieted as Snape appeared and ordered everyone inside. She sat in the back of the class with the boys to her left and opened the magazine, reading through its contents with a roll of her eyes.

Rita Skeeter had written another ridiculous article about her being a heart breaker, and betraying Harry's love for Viktor Krum. She read through the quotes with narrowed eyes, and bit her tongue in suspicion. There were lines about him expressing his concern over her health right after the second task, and quotes of Hermione thanking him for saving her life and telling him that he was great. The last sentence suggested her brewing love potions illegally. What a load of rubbish! She snorted. But how the hell had Skeeter heard what she and Viktor were saying to each other? She doubted even the other champions had heard their conversation through the noise of the crowd.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, chopping through the white root.

She tossed the article at him under the table and shook her head, still trying to think if she had noticed the horrid woman. But that was impossible, Dumbledore had banished her from the grounds.

"Rita Skeeter and her usual lies again," she explained quietly. "Don't think of it."

Ron shot her an I-told-you-so look after scanning the article over Harry's shoulder, and crushed his black beetles with renewed energy. "What did I say? I told you not to mess with her!"

Hermione simply grabbed the magazine from Harry's hands, and tossed the material over her shoulder and into the trash.

"It doesn't even matter," she hissed at Ron. "It's all lies anyway."

"She wrote you out to be a scarlet woman!" he replied louder than necessary.

"Ron!" she protested, trying to clam him down.

Too late.

"I see you three are having quite the conversation back here," Snape sneered, his tall stature looming over them intimidatingly. "Ten points from Gryffindor, I do want to hear you proclaiming your love for Weasley in my class, Miss Granger."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry kicked her under the table. Pansy Parkinson smirked.

"Professor," she informed. "I'm sure it was Potter proclaiming his love. Although I wouldn't be surprised if Weasley drank one of her love potions as well."

Hermione glared at the girl, multiple retorts barely held back by her clamped teeth. Snape raised an eyebrow, a sharp glint in his black eyes.

"You three, separate—I can't have you distracted by your pathetic love lives in my class," he pointed with a finger. "Weasley stay here, Miss Granger next to Mr. Malfoy, and Potter, the front most table. Move."

Hermione bit her tongue and grabbed all her things, shoving them into her bag with more force than necessary. This whole situation was utterly unfair! She released three calming exhales and walked next to Malfoy, setting her stuff over the empty side of the table on the left.

He wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't sneering at her either. She set her cauldron down and resumed crushing the beetles into fine powder. After a few minutes of working, her anger began to subside, ruled over by the need to perfect the potion.

Malfoy's elbow often collided with hers, but she didn't say a word. She thought he was doing it on purpose just to annoy her, and glanced over to realize that it was because he was left-handed. No wonder no one usually sat to the left of him. She scrunched her nose in thought; why hadn't she noticed that before? She'd seen him write essays plenty of times.

Pondering the thought, she set her mind back to the task in front of her, making sure to add three clockwise stirs every two minutes. Hermione decided to scoot over a few inches, giving him more space on the table. She caught his gaze as she moved away, his grey eyes looking at her almost… questioningly. She stared back and held her breath not trusting herself to say anything to him at the moment. They weren't friends—he might have been somewhat civil in the library, but that was when he was alone.

She held the contact for a second longer, watching his pupils dilate rapidly, as if he stepped into a dark room. She tore her eyes away first, nearly missing her three stirs after another two minutes had gone by. She resumed breathing and tried to focus on getting the color of her potion accurate.

Hermione inwardly sighed. He definitely looked different, but she just couldn't figure out what it was.

* * *

A/N: Tehehe is Draco really left handed though? :) And I'm glad I finally got to write some actual progress between the two, I swear they are _thee_ most stubborn pair I have ever had the fortune of writing. Ah, well, that's why we all love them.

Personally, I like the way they have Neville give Harry the gillyweed in the movies, even though Moody had to kinda force it on him—I don't know—the boy needs some credit for his knowledge so I wrote it as such. Hope it was okay. And I'm curious, did you guys like reading about Dobby getting the gillyweed, or watching Neville get it? Leave me with your thoughts!

El


	6. Beetle Exchange

Disclaiming as usual: Still penniless.

* * *

Chapter 6: Beetle Exchange

.

When Hogsmeade weekend came around, Hermione, Harry and Ron went to visit Sirius; bringing him loads of food that they had sneaked out of the great hall.

A large black dog was sitting outside the village, and dashed towards them as they approached. Harry broke out into a smile.

"Hello Sirius," he lowered his voice, making sure no one was paying particular attention to them.

The dog tilted its head and started to trot away from the shops. They followed him into the woods, climbing over large bounders and nearly tripping over roots. Hermione huffed and struggled to keep up, but the boys weren't in any better shape either.

By the time they squeezed through a narrow opening in the mountain, she was sweating and trying to fan herself with her robes without much success. Sirius had already transformed back to his normal self and began tearing through the food Harry set down. She bowed to Buckbeak and patted its muzzle gently after he acknowledged her presence.

Harry began describing the mysterious absence of Mr. Crouch—Hermione repeatedly pressing the fact that the man had sacked an innocent house-elf after accusing her of casting the dark mark. They exchanged theories, but she could tell the older wizard was withholding information. He muttered to himself and narrowed his eyes constantly, and tried to dampen their curiosity with vague explanations. Harry recalled the people behind him in the top box of the Quidditch World Cup, trying to consider if his wand was taken instead of lost, but the conversation hadn't led anywhere productive.

After a few hours of talk, Harry assured his godfather that he would continue to write about anything unusual, and agreed to send him more food later. They bid him and Buckbeak farewell and began their hike back to Hogsmeade village, hoping to stop by some shops before retuning to the castle.

.

Hermione had been so occupied with other pressing matters; the following morning came as a painful surprise. She had forgotten all about the ridiculous article and opened a mass of hateful letters at breakfast, only to have burning acid explode from the third envelope and splatter all over her hands.

She hissed and stood up immediately, wiping off the yellow pus from her skin to the best of her ability. Her eyes stung with painful tears but she held them back.

"Hermione you all right?" Harry stood up as well offering her more napkins.

She grunted in response, not trusting her voice. Ron grabbed the hate letters and read through them, giving her I-told-you-so look. "Blimey! Look at these Harry—they're horrid!"

"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Harry urged, glancing at the curious eyes that were shooting in their direction.

"I told you," Ron scowled. "You shouldn't have snapped at Skeeter! I'm chucking these out—"

Ignoring Ron's stream of curses, she took Harry's advice and skipped the rest of breakfast, dashing out of the Great Hall with her burned hands against her chest.

Madam Pomfrey was outraged that she had been under such shameless accusations. Unlike the rest of the Hogwarts population, Hermione had grown quite close to the nurse after visiting multiple times every year, and she immediately tossed the article written by Skeeter as lies. Once her hands were wrapped tightly in white bandages, Madam Pomfrey gave her a stern look telling her to be careful and shooed her out the door.

Hermione hadn't bothered to open any letters after that—not like she could anyway. Her hands were so sensitive for the next few days; even turning the pages in the book she was reading felt like she had touched the surface of a frying pan.

It was Wednesday again. She dropped off her things in the common room and made her way to the deserted seventh floor hallway. Gritting her teeth, she pulled out the Time Turner from her robes and twisted the hourglass twice, careful not to break the delicate device. After opening her eyes to find herself back in time, she gripped her wand with difficulty, cast the disillusionment charm and made her way to Malfoy's Charms class.

If she had been counting correctly, Malfoy would be heading to the library today. After following him for over half a year every week, she had his schedule burned into the back of her head like her own.

Sure enough, he stepped through the old doors of the library, his bag slung over his shoulder. Hermione decided to simply release the spell and pretend she had been in the library the whole time, it's not like it would have been a surprise. Taking deep breaths, she strode through the towering shelves, grumbling that she could barely hold a book for more than five minutes without her hands stinging.

She heard Malfoy plop down on a chair before she rounded the corner and stopped to see him. He glanced up at her footsteps and stared back. For a moment, she thought it would be like the day she was forced to sit next to him in potions, but he broke the silence the next second.

"Are you going to stand there or sit down, Granger?" he raised an eyebrow.

Hermione stopped mid breath. It was a miracle. This was probably the first time he had spoken to her first without including the words 'leave', 'no' and 'mudblood'. Feeling incredibly accomplished, she walked over to his table and sat at the opposite end, trying to clamp down her smile.

He gave her a quizzical look before picking up his quill and rolling out a fresh sheet of parchment. "Why are you always here at this time?"

She titled her head in confusion as she watched him write, the quill in his right hand. "I'm at the library at all times."

"Yeah?" he narrowed his eyes. "Even during class?"

Hermione's mouth went dry. She quickly pulled out of her surprise and raised an eyebrow. "I don't have class."

It was twisted logic. He other self had class, but her current self didn't.

"Don't lie, Granger," he said a bit more forcefully. "I know you fourth year Gryffindors have History of Magic _right now._"

She felt her blood pound like a cornered animal. So that's why he had called her over. He wanted answers.

"Did you ever consider I've been excused from time to time?" she said smoothly.

He frowned. "It's a core class, you can't be excused from it. Now stop lying and—"

"And what?" she snapped. "Tell you the truth? You obviously don't believe anything I say anyway. What's to say I'm not telling you the truth right now?"

Malfoy took a sharp breath and looked like he was about to yell some obscenity at her. To her surprise, he settled for a cold stare and gave her a look that showed the conversation wasn't over.

"If I can't believe you, then maybe I'll go to Binns myself and ask," he offered. "I'm sure he'll tell me. I'm rather dying to know how you're getting out of the class."

She froze. That would be breaking the laws of time. If Malfoy stormed into her class right now, he would see her other self, sitting with Harry and Ron. It would completely mess up everything she had worked for.

Her heartbeat raced. Why was this happening? There was no Malfoy bursting through the doors of her History of Magic class earlier, so it shouldn't be happening now. Hermione groaned as she remembered the complicated situation. The first time she had class, Malfoy had spent time alone in the library; she wasn't there as a trigger for him to reach this conclusion. But now that she had used the Time Turner, she was changing events.

Obviously set on his decision, Malfoy stood from his chair and started to walk out of the library. Horrified, she jumped after him and yelled at him to hold on, which only pushed him to walk faster. Hermione cursed his longer legs, took two jumping strides and reached out to grab his shoulder.

"Wait, Malfoy—Ow!"

She retracted her hand immediately, feeling her palm burst with tingling pain. She had forgotten how sensitive her skin was. He stopped and turned on his heel, catching sight of her bandaged hands before she pulled them behind her back.

"What's with your hands?" he asked, looking quite displeased. He probably thought she had some kind of contagious disease.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to pull down her sleeves. There was no way she was going to tell him she received an envelope full of burning pus. She would never hear the end of it.

He raised an eyebrow. "That so? Probably burned yourself making a concoction to lure Krum."

She glared at him, her temper snapping. "I did _not_ give him anything! How many times do I have to tell you? And what did I say about taking everything at face value? Especially things from Rita Skeeter—that cowardly—"

Hermione cut herself off, realizing her mistake. Malfoy was smirking, his head tilted in victory.

"Oh—so Rita Skeeter's little article got to you?" he asked with fake innocence.

Shit.

He had played her. Malfoy could have easily come to the same conclusion of her creating love potions based on their talk at the Yule Ball. He never mentioned anything about Skeeter, until she just gave him the answer.

Now that she thought about it, his idea to walk in her class was probably a false threat as well. This was Malfoy she was thinking about, he would never bend his pride and walk in, asking why Hermione Granger was getting excused from class. Biting her tongue, she let the failure settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Fine," she growled in anger at herself. "I had a nice surprise of acid in an envelope the other morning. Interesting isn't it?"

The corner of his lips pulled down slightly, and his eyes narrowed. He regarded her with a strange look. It was one she recognized—he was having clashing thoughts in his head, probably considering if he should taunt her or owl flowers to the acid sender.

"Granger, your situation is as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season," he finally replied sarcastically. "Actually, the beetle seems far more interesting now that I give it some thought."

She gave him a death glare, but he didn't seem affected.

Malfoy simply pulled on a triumphant smirk before walking around her and returning to the table.

She nearly split her tongue in half biting it so hard. The nerve of him! First he taunts her, tricks her into telling him what happened, and then mocks her. She took a few calming breaths, repeating to herself that cursing Malfoy would make Dumbledore incredibly disappointed. And Merlin knew she hated falling short of people's expectations. Pulling up the memory when she had punched him last year, she replayed the memory multiple times until she was smiling with amusement. That had felt exceptionally good.

Deciding that she couldn't spend another moment in his presence without repeating the memory in her head, Hermione turned the other way and stalked to her usual table, carefully sliding a book off the shelf. She needed a serious distraction from a certain blonde that was in the other side of the library before either of them ended in Madam Pomfrey's hands.

.

March flew by faster than normal. After fully recovering her hands, Hermione was burning with determination, going through book after book on spying or information gathering. She was going to find out how Rita Skeeter was getting her information, and nothing could stop her.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts was over, she stayed behind to ask Professor Moody if he had seen anything at the second task with that magical eye of his, but returned negative.

She didn't get a chance to talk to Malfoy for the rest of the month as he was constantly hanging out in the Slytherin dungeons, or she didn't have her temper in check that particular week. She just couldn't risk it, especially after he questioned the reason for not being in class. Even if the entire thing was a carefully schemed plot, he knew something was off and she wasn't planning on revealing the mission anytime soon.

As the first week of April came rolling in, Hermione tossed another useless book that still hadn't given her the answer. Rita Skeeter didn't write another nasty article about her, Harry and Viktor, but there was no stopping the woman in the future. She just _had _to figure out how the blasted woman was getting her information.

She practically stormed back to the common room after classes were over, Harry and Ron walking with a significant amount of distance between them as if she were about to combust at any moment.

"Give it up, Hermione," Ron suggested. "There's no point."

"I won't!" she insisted. "I'm going to find out how she's hearing on supposedly private conversations!"

"Probably has bugs around the castle to spy on us," Harry joked. "Using muggle technology would be unexpected after all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's impossible. Muggle technology goes haywire anywhere near Hogwarts—haven't you read Hogwarts: A His—"

She stopped in her tracks, causing Ron and Harry to nearly crash into her. Her thoughts were running at a hundred miles an minute.

This just couldn't be possible.

"Hermione?" Harry called, waving his hand in front of her face. "You all right?"

Clamping her jaw, she turned to his sharply with wide eyes. "Harry, you told me you and Ron saw Hagrid talking with Madam Maxime—"

"Well not purposely!" Ron defended.

"I know!" she raised a hand cutting him off. "I'm asking… did you see anything around?"

Harry thought for a minute and shrugged. "Can't say. I was trying to focus on this beetle throughout their conversation, so I didn't really look around… Ron did you?"

She took a sharp breath, ignoring Ron's answer. She had heard enough.

Hermione quickly replayed the memory of Viktor helping her to the sidelines after the second task and frowned in concentration. There had been a large ground beetle in the corner. She remembered thinking it was odd, seeing the insect out in the cold February weather.

_Your situation is as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season. _

She gasped.

_Actually, the beetle seems far more interesting now that I give it some thought. _

"Hermione what's wrong?" Ron asked, looking slightly scared.

"No…" she barely whispered.

It just couldn't be. She was an animagus—an unregistered one at that, but Malfoy couldn't have possible known it was Rita Skeeter. Even if he had known, the fact that he had told her was something she couldn't process.

"What?" Ron said in confusion. "Bloody hell, what is going on?"

She finally turned to him and shook her head. "Nothing… I'll tell you guys when I'm absolutely sure."

Both boys gave her a looks of curiosity and slight fear, seemingly not wanting to know just what she had discovered. They mumbled in agreement and continued their walk to the Gryffindor tower. Hermione didn't remember following them, but the next moment, she was sitting on her bed, staring out the window.

It had been so damn obvious! How could she have not put the two together? How long has it been since Malfoy had said that to her—a little less than a month? Groaning, she dropped her head on the fluffy pillow and cursed her lack of sense. She had been so mad at herself after, everything he said to her had practically entered one ear and left the other.

Just what was Malfoy thinking? Why would he give such a hint to her anyway? Her mind drifted to her injured hands but cut the thought immediately. That was absurd. He may have started to slowly tolerate her presence without pulling out his wand, but he was still far from being genuinely polite. The idea of him telling her because she had been hurt was so far-fetched it was almost funny.

She felt her throat tighten when she realized he was possibly striking up a silent deal. He would give her information on Skeeter, and ask for something in return. It was the closest idea that was Malfoy-like enough. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, dread filling her chest, she could only hope he wouldn't demand the unreasonable. But again—this was Malfoy she was thinking about.

Her stomach did flips when she registered the fact that it was Tuesday evening. She would most likely talk to Malfoy tomorrow. He had visited the library once over the last month but Hermione felt simply unprepared to talk to him that day, so she watched him do his homework, going back to analyzing his expressions again.

After grumbling for another ten minutes, she rose from her bed, deciding that she had enough time to feel sorry for herself. When tomorrow came around, she would have a plan.

Wednesday evening, Hermione was standing in front of the Quidditch pitch, her plan completely out the window.

She had hoped Malfoy would go to the library today, but he had decided to make use of the clear April weather, grabbed his broom and took off within minutes of leaving class.

She sighed and leaned against the wall of the short tunnel, hidden from view. The bleachers were folded up and not a single other person was in sight. Malfoy had released the snitch a few minutes after taking off, and Hermione continued to watch him fly around the pitch. The moment he spotted it, his lowered his torso and flew like a bullet, chasing after the tiny golden ball. After catching it, he would throw it in the air again, letting it speed off for another round.

She had watched him fly dozens of times since September, and she still couldn't stop herself from admiring his skill. Once Malfoy had caught the snitch for the third time, she sucked up all her Gryffindor courage and released the charm. She stepped out of the shaded tunnel, and walked onto the grassy field.

For a moment, she held her breath and gazed around the pitch. She had never been on the Quidditch field before and quickly realized that sitting in the bleachers and standing on the actual field were two completely different feelings—and she wasn't even playing a game.

Hermione glanced at the sky, looking for Malfoy's figure. She spotted him high above the goal posts and jumped when something zoomed by her ear. Turning her head, she saw a small golden ball fly around her head, its wings a complete blur from the speed of its movement. She trailed the snitch as it flew around her, awed at the size and speed of the tiny ball. She would never admit it, but she felt a sense of serious admiration for Harry and even Malfoy.

There was a distinct sound of billowing robes to her right. She turned her head, finally noticing Malfoy dive straight at her, cutting through the air like lighting. In the next second his gloved hand shot in front of her face, missing her nose by millimeters and closing on the snitch. The rest of his body followed, flying past her. He jerked his broom into a sharp turn towards her but still hovered a good six feet in the air.

He was panting slightly, and Hermione could see his pale skin glisten with sweat, his cheeks tinged pink from the rush of blood. It felt extremely odd to see him up close like that. He was usually so posed, looking like a carved statue.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day—Granger stepping on the field."

She rolled her eyes and craned her neck to look at him. "I saw you from the library window and came to ask you something."

That had been a lie but he obviously didn't have to know that.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?"

"The question is, what is it that _you _want?" she asked, feeling nervous again.

He didn't seem to understand. "I want for what?"

"For telling me about Skeeter," she clarified, watching his expression.

Malfoy's lips curved into an amused smirk. "Don't tell me you just figured it out? Really, how idiotic—"

"I was a little angry!" she interrupted, feeling embarrassed that it had taken her so long. Not that she was ever going to admit that to him. "And you can't blame me for not taking what you say seriously. It's not like you especially think about what I say either."

That was a lie as well, but Malfoy didn't know she saw him pick up books from the muggle study section during Christmas break.

His grey eyes regarded her carefully. Hermione fidgeted under his stare, and gulped down her anxiety. He wouldn't ask for anything unreasonable, right?

"Tell you what, Granger," he began. "There is not a single thing that you can reveal to me that has the same weight with what I told you about Skeeter. So instead, you will owe me a favor."

"A favor?" she repeated, feeling her heart lodged in her throat. "What exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said smoothly. "But swear to me right now that you will remember and fulfill it when the time comes."

She cringed back. "Not a chance. I don't trust you with something as heavy as that."

"It has nothing to do with trust," he sneered. "Are you really going to walk away from someone who helped you? I thought you have more honor than that, Granger."

Hermione growled under her breath. He was hitting her buttons with expert precision, trapping her where it meant the most.

"I do," she argued. "Only, you would ask me to jump off a cliff as a favor, so no."

"As much as that would be a favor to everyone, not only me," he replied. She glared at him. "I'm not going to ask for anything regarding your life and death. It's a favor that's ultimately going to benefit _me._"

"Of course," she muttered, fighting off the instinct for her to run from the field immediately. Every cell in her body was waving in alarm, telling her she wasn't in a good situation. How could she ever place that level of trust in Malfoy?

_That same feeling must be given, even to those who you think are undeserving of it._

Clamping her eyes shut, she tried to fight off Dumbledore's words. It just wasn't working.

She sighed.

Maybe it would benefit her task in the long run. She was trying to change Malfoy's views after all. He certainly wasn't going to make the first move so she had to be the one to give her trust before she could expect anything in return.

"I swear it," she spoke through clenched teeth, peeling her eyelids back and staring at the grass. "On my honor, I will grant you one _reasonable_ favor in the future."

Hermione took a deep breath and glanced at him defiantly. He looked slightly surprised as if he was ready to fight her for her to agree.

A satisfied smirk took his lips.

"You swore it," he repeated. "Don't forget."

"I won't," she said strongly, crossing her arms.

"Very well. Have you caught her?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she frowned, confused at the change in topic. "Oh—Skeeter? No, not yet. But I will… very soon. She's going to regret writing all those horrible lies. How did you find out about her anyway?"

He gave her an as-if-I'm-going-to-tell-you look. "That's something I won't disclose. Can't have you know all my secrets, now can I?"

She pursed her lips and gave him a pleading look. "Then can I ask for your help?"

"You want _my _help?" he repeated. "What for?"

"To catch her," she said. "I have a plan."

"And are you going to owe me another favor in return?" he slyly suggested.

She grimaced. "Can't you help me this once without making it into some kind of exchange?"

"That's inconceivable," he sharply replied. "I don't help people out of the goodness of my heart, Granger."

There was an annoyed glint in his eyes, but it didn't seem to be directed at her. She inwardly sighed, her neck hurting from the continuous strain.

"Please?" she tried, flashing him a smile.

He seemed disgusted instead. "No. You'll owe me another favor or leave me be. The fact that I'm still here listening to you is already difficult enough."

She scowled and grumbled in frustration. Now was not the time for her pride.

"All right, fine. I will owe you two favors," she agreed reluctantly. There wasn't much he could ask her anyway. "On my honor as a Gryffindor. Now will you listen to me?"

"Start talking," he directed.

Hermione glared at him but told him the plan. He listened intently, and nodded slightly in understanding, raising eyebrows from time to time.

Once she made sure he understood, she finally agreed to leave him in peace to fly.

"You know, you're actually a good person, Malfoy." She said honestly, but hoping to lower his defenses. "It's a shame no one else gets to see this side of you."

He blinked twice, eyes widening, then narrowing. He regarded her silently, giving her that _look _again—as if he was trying to decide between two evidently difficult emotions. But knowing Malfoy, he was probably caught between yelling at her and sneering at her.

Not wanting to receive either of those, she waved and spun on her heel dashing off the Quidditch pitch, her shoes digging into the ground. She didn't look back once, missing the grey eyes that watched her retreating form all the way back to the castle.

* * *

A/N: Aaand take off! Did anyone see that coming? I hope not.

Anywho, I pray you liked the chapter. Please review and lend me your thoughts! I'm constantly trying to keep them both in character but it's a bit difficult when I'm just looking at it from my point of view. Also, I always forget to say this, but since I don't have a Beta, if you see any dreadful errors, please do tell. I'll be forever grateful.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! You guys melt my heart.

El


	7. The Weight of Honor

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. Nada. Nala. Simba.

* * *

Chapter 7: The Weight of Honor

.

Warm rays of sunlight soon replaced the light spring breeze as May came around. Hermione basked in front of the black lake, trying to forget all her problems for a sold half hour. She closed her eyes and lied in the grass, listening to the wind pick up around her ears and her hair tousling in the breeze. Her homework for next week had been finished since yesterday, and all she wanted was a moment to melt away in silence.

Nothing lasted long enough.

Turning to the side, she began to think about everything that had happened in the last month. The third task was announced at the start of the summer term. She nearly pulled her hair out after hearing Harry had to go through a maze filled with wild creatures—why couldn't anything be safe for him?

To top the night off, he and Viktor had met Mr. Crouch by the Forbidden Forest, apparently delusional and muttering incoherently about Voldemort. Viktor was stunned by the time Dumbledore arrived, and it was best to say that Karkaroff was not too happy about the incident. They three of them had a brief conversation with Professor Moody once he returned from the forest, but Crouch had escaped the grounds somehow.

She and Ron were constantly helping Harry with new spells that would keep him alive during the third task, but it wasn't enough to ease the lump of nervousness in her throat.

It was Friday evening after their Double Potions class, and they were having another training session with Harry in an empty classroom that McGonagall had lent them.

Ron tired out first as usual and leaned towards the open window, letting the wind blow against his face.

"Hey look," he called after a few minutes. "Malfoy's out there. What'd you reckon he's doing?"

Her heart jumped slightly at his name as she made her way to the window with Harry. Peaking out the frame, she spotted the blonde against a tree holding his hand up to his face as if he was talking to it. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him, seemingly looking for any spectators.

She didn't think she'd see Malfoy play his part. Hermione broke out into a smile, but suppressed it when Harry's voice broke through.

"Looks like he's using a mobile phone or something," he suggested, not looking particularly interested.

She forced down her excitement and shook her head at Harry. "I told you those things don't work here. Come on—you have to work on your shield charm."

Nodding, Harry followed her back to the center of the classroom, practicing the shield over and over.

After an hour of hard work, both boys were exhausted and agreed to head down to dinner. Ron practically bolted out of the room, eager to stuff himself full of food. She grabbed Harry's arm, and hushed him before he tried to ask.

"Listen Harry," she whispered, watching Ron head down to the Great Hall. His mind was obviously filled with the idea of dinner, he didn't notice his two best friends trail behind. "Tomorrow after dinner, can you come to the third classroom in the North Tower? I have something to tell you."

"Why?" he frowned. "What's going on?"

She shook her head. "It's a plan to catch Rita Skeeter. Just remember, everything I tell you in that room is a _lie._ Got it?"

Harry nodded slowly, giving her a strange look. "All right… what am I supposed to do?"

"Just react to what say," she suggested. "But at least try and act like you don't know I'm lying."

"So you're going to spout some nonsense and hope Rita Skeeter arrives?" he raised an eyebrow. "You do know she's banned from the grounds, right?"

"Of course I know that," she affirmed. "But I have no doubt in my mind that she'll be there. I just need your help in bringing her closer so I can catch her."

"Erm—how exactly are you going to catch her?" he inquired, obviously confused.

"Just trust me on this, Harry," she said. "I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He gave her a curious look but held his questions back. "Okay, I'll be there. But what about Ron?"

She inwardly smirked. Having him there would be a disaster. "Don't let him know. Shake him off after dinner and meet me up there."

"All right, Hermione," he sighed in defeat. "I hope your plan works."

"It will," she smiled, feeling relieved. "And remember to act surprised."

After agreeing and bobbing his head multiple times, Hermione finally let go of his wrist and they resumed their walk to the Great Hall. Ron didn't even seem to notice their momentary disappearance.

Once dinner was over, she excused herself from the boys and left the large walls of Hogwarts, making her way down a familiar path towards the Durmstrang ship. The wind seemed to blow even harder near the lake, but Hermione gritted her teeth and continued onward. She spotted a group of Durmstrang students by the dock, and made their way towards them.

"Uhm—hello?" she greeted as a younger boy noticed her approach. She recognized him from the ball, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to tell she was the same girl who went to the ball with their champion.

"Hallo," he greeted back. "Ah—you are Herm-own."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes… Wow you actually recognize me?"

The boy barked a short laugh. "Viktor told everevon about you, so ve could not ask you to the ball."

"Oh," she buried her face in her scarf as she felt her cheeks flare. "Well, I'm actually looking for Viktor. Is he around?"

His nose scrunched up in thought. "He is inside. Follow me."

Before she could take back her words and say she'll come back tomorrow morning, the Bulgarian stalked off and Hermione scurried after him without another choice.

"I thought your Headmaster doesn't allow visitors?" she asked quietly as they walked up the side.

"Veil, Karkaroff is not in," he explained, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hermione just nodded, satisfied that the sharp looking man wasn't going to question her motives for coming. He would probably assume she was trying to trick Viktor or get some information to Harry.

They walked through the large opening and into the halls, passing by the dining room and the large living area. After cutting some corners, the boy arrived at a wooden door at the end of the hallway and banged on it, shouting in Bulgarian.

A few seconds later, Viktor's voice shouted back in the foreign language, muffled by the surprisingly thick walls.

The boy sighed and yelled something again. Instead of responding, she heard rushed footsteps from inside the room, and the door swung open by a quick pull.

Viktor appeared in the doorway, dressed in a loose sleeveless shirt, his wand in hand. She could see traces of sweat near his hairline and noticed the way his breath sounded slightly heavier than usual. He looked at the boy for a second before turning to notice her, eyes wide.

"Herm-own-ne!" he blinked a few times, looking shocked.

The boy said a few words to Viktor that sounded awfully a lot like the tone of 'I told you so' and stalked off. Viktor snorted and shook his head. He finally turned back to her.

"Sorry—come in?" he moved to the side, and she slipped past him with a nervous smile.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, Viktor," she bit her lip, not knowing where to go.

The room was quite spacious filled with odd things here and there. There was a comfy looking bed against the far wall with a desk, nightstand, and a large trunk at the leaning against the bedframe. The wall to her right looked completely beat up with all kind of scorch marks and cuts.

"You are not bothering me," he assured. "I vos practicing spells for the third task, so I told them not to disturb me. I thought Jarod vos lying to me so I vould leave the room—"

She released a quiet 'Oh' and nodded in understanding. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a small handkerchief, and handed it to him with an amused smile.

A light flush crossed his face, and he took it with a silly grin.

"Thank you… Vot brings you here?" he asked, wiping his forehead. "Is it something bad?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "No, not at all. And well, it's not the main reason, but are you all right? I haven't seen you in the library since I heard you were attacked."

Viktor's face darkened. "I am okay, vos hit by a stunning spell by the mad Crouch man… and I vonted to practice for the third task so I haff been spending more time here." He gave her a slight smile. "Vot is the other reason?"

"Tomorrow after dinner, do you think you can meet me in the third classroom of the North Tower?" she asked immediately.

His face twisted in thought.

"It's also called the Divination Tower," she explained. His eyes lit up in recognition. "Take the staircase to the seventh floor, and the third classroom to the right is empty."

"I can," he confirmed. "Vot is going on?"

She gave him a mischievous grin. "I have a plan to catch Rita Skeeter, and I need your help."

"The voman that vrote bad things about you and Harry Potter?"

"The one and only," she nodded. "But once I catch her, she's not going to be writing anymore lies."

"Vot are you planning?"

"You'll see," she smiled. "I just need you to meet me there after dinner. And remember that everything I tell you will be lies. Don't believe them."

"Lie?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's part of my plan," she explained. "But you have to react like you don't know I'm lying. Can you do it?"

He looked jokingly offended. "Of course, I vill be there."

"Thanks, Viktor," she glanced at the tattered wall. "Your spell work looks great by the way."

"I haff much vork to do still," he said sheepishly.

"Then I'll leave you now," she smiled, feeling relieved. "And make sure to rest, I need your help tomorrow."

"I vill volk you back," he insisted.

"Oh, but…" he shot her an unwavering look. "Oh, all right. Thank you."

Viktor tucked his wand away and pulled the heavy door open for her, gesturing for her to leave first. Muffling a giggle, she left his room and followed him down the hall. He led her in a different route than Jarod had, giving her a quick tour of the ship and it's communal rooms. She lost her breath at the sheer size of the place and concluded that it had been magically enlarged from the inside.

Viktor walked with her all the way to the castle, keeping up a light conversation to fill the silence. As she neared the archways, Hermione turned to face him.

"I'll be okay from here," she assured. "Thanks for walking me."

He gave her a small smile before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on her cheek. He lingered near her ear. "I vill alvays be here to help you, Hermione."

Before she could even react properly, he pulled back just as quickly and retreated from his position, giving her one last wave before turning around and melting into the night.

She felt her face practically burn red the following second. She released a delicate breath before bringing her fingers to her face and lightly placed them over her cheekbone. Her heart raced faster, and her stomach did summersaults under her skin.

Forcing herself to move and walk back to the Gryffindor tower, she pushed down her blush, asking herself why the ruddy hell she hadn't spent more time with Viktor before.

.

The day crept by slowly and Hermione's hands were itching for night to fall. When her last class was over, she headed to dinner with Harry and Ron, neatly stabbing her peas with her fork and running through the plan in her mind. Tonight was going to be written in her personal history book. She would catch that blasted Skeeter woman once in for all.

Deciding to head up, she sent Harry a look. He glanced back from across the table, nodded and mouthed 'okay' at her. She lifted her head and looked across the Great Hall, lowering her gaze on the Slytherin table. Viktor was sitting to the far left. She gave him a quick smile as she remembered the previous night's events, and dared to scan the table for a mop of white blonde hair. As if he had been staring at her already, she locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. He sneered in return; turning his eyes away the next second. She snorted, that was probably the best kind of acknowledgement she was going to get.

"I'm heading to the library," she announced, getting up from her place. No one bothered to question her.

Hermione trekked up to the North Tower and located the third classroom, pushing the large door open and stepping inside.

She flicked on the lights and surveyed the room. There was a large table in the back—presumably for the professor, and a few long wooden workstations stacked on top of each other to her left. She cleaned the offending dust and webbing with a wave of her wand, pulled down one of the long tables, and pushed it towards the center of the room.

There were several large windows across the wall, looking caked with age and dust. She walked over to the furthest window near the professor's desk and pushed it open with difficulty. The cool night air blasted her face, sending her hair flying in all directions. She grumbled and combed through the crazy locks with her fingers, and took a steadying breath.

Her stomach squirmed nervously as she began to pace around the room keeping an eye on the open window. Much to her own surprise, she didn't doubt Malfoy at all. If he had played his part convincingly, Rita Skeeter would be making her way towards the North Tower any moment.

As the minutes ticked by, she glanced at the window for the umpteenth time, and her eye caught on a dark ground beetle sitting innocently on the window frame.

_Got you. _

She quickly turned away and began pacing again, trying to appear nervous. A few paces later, the classroom door creaked opened and Harry walked in.

"Hermione?" he called, glancing around the room. "So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and held up a hand. "Well, I'm waiting for someone else. He'll be here soon."

Genuine surprise flashed through his green eyes. "Er—well, all right."

He stood awkwardly near the back of the classroom, shifting his weight between his feet.

True to her word, the door opened again. Viktor slid through, glancing around the room, his gaze falling on her first.

"Herm-own-ne!" he greeted. He glanced right, finally noticing Harry. "Potter? Vot is going on… vie is he here?"

"Krum?" Harry looked a bit taken aback. "Hermione asked me to come here and talk to her."

"She said same to me," he frowned.

"I need to tell you both something very important," she interrupted, glancing at the window again. The beetle had left the frame and crawled to the professor's desk. It was closer to where they were standing, but not close enough. She needed to coax it closer. "I just didn't want anyone to overhear what I had to say…"

She quieted her voice glancing between Harry and Viktor.

"What is it?" Harry asked first.

"Well I wanted to tell you guys much earlier," she whispered, trying to sound scared. "But I just couldn't pluck up the courage. Promise you won't be mad?"

"Ve von't be mad," Viktor said, giving her a curious look.

"Well… the truth is," she started. "I'm actually dating Ron."

Even though she had told them she would be lying, both boys looked extremely surprised, or they were acting very well.

"What?" Harry gasped. "Ron? You're dating Ron?"

"The boy vit red hair? You are seeing him Herm-own-ne?" Viktor sounded outraged.

She squeaked, actually feeling slightly afraid. She took a few steps back towards the other desk she had shoved to the center of the room, noticing that her target had moved onto the corner of the table.

"Yes, I am so sorry," she whispered, reaching into her robes and pulling out her wand. Harry and Viktor both leaned back as if she was going to attack them. "I didn't mean to lie to you guys but I just never got the chance to say…"

With a quick flick, she conjured a glass jar and grabbed it with her free hand, holding it against her chest and away from the beetle's view.

"How could you keep that from me?" Harry asked, looking like he wanted to ask what she was doing.

"And lie to me," Viktor added, his accent thicker in his supposed anger. "You said you vos not seeing anyone."

"I just like Ron so much," she explained, gripping the bottom of the jar. "I couldn't admit it to you guys… Not when there are people out there—you see, who illegally listen to private conversations!"

Feeling her adrenaline rush, she turned on the spot with the jar in hand and slammed it down over the desk, trapping the large beetle inside. She pointed her wand at the glass and casted the unbreakable charm over it, sealing the lid with another flick. She poked tiny holes at the top for air and tucked her wand back in her robes.

The room fell silent.

Hermione's heart thudded with glee as she flipped the jar over, causing the beetle to tumble around and fall on its back. Its legs were squirming with mad movement as it righted itself and began to flick the glass.

"I got you," she finally said, starting intently at the insect. She caught distinct markings around its eyes, looking exactly like the dreadful glasses she wore in her human form. "Rita Skeeter."

"W-What?" Harry was the first to ask. "What did you get?"

Hermione turned around again lifted the jar for both of them to see.

"This. Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus, who takes form of a beetle," she explained. "She used this to spy on people and listen to conversations that normally she wouldn't be able to hear. That's how she's been getting into Hogwarts as well. See those marks? Those are her distinguishing features, looks awfully a lot like her glasses don't they?"

Both boys approached her slowly, staring into the glass. Hermione was sure if beetles had the muscle capacity to frown, Skeeter would have been glaring like death at them.

"Now that I think about it…" Harry muttered. "There was a beetle I saw when Hagrid and Madam Maxime were talking!"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed.

Viktor on the other hand, still looked overwhelmed by the information.

She raised the jar back up to her eyes, and flashed a smug smile. "In case you haven't figured it out, Skeeter, everything I said in here was a lie. I knew you would do anything for a chance to hear Viktor, Harry and I speak about secretive things, so I set this up. Can't transform back either, right? That's because I put an unbreakable charm on it."

"Hermione…" her green-eyed friend looked at her in awe.

She set the jar down and gave both boys a shy smile. "Er—sorry for using you guys, and especially sorry you had to hear me say something like that. I needed her to get in the classroom so the lies were needed—incredible acting skills though."

"I vos actually shocked," Viktor said honestly, still looking at the jar. "It vos no act."

"Same with me," Harry laughed nervously. "I know you said you would be lying but it still surprised me."

Hermione muffled a laugh. "Ron and I have more arguments than decent conversations. Good thing he's not here though right?"

"Yeah," he breathed back, a smile on his lips.

There was a strange sense of freedom in the air after knowing that Skeeter wouldn't be listening to any further conversations.

"And vot are you planning for her?" Viktor asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the jar and simply raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea…"

Both boys looked apprehensive.

.

Hermione was skipping for the rest of the week. The Quidditch pitch was being occupied for the third task, so Malfoy set his course back to the library on Wednesday evening.

She didn't bother with the disillusionment charm today, and nearly jumped into the free chair at his table.

Malfoy raised his head from his essay and lifted an eyebrow at her smile.

"Don't look so bloody jolly, Granger," he jeered. "You're disturbing me."

"Oh hush," she chided, keeping the smile on her face. "I can be as jolly as I want."

"You're practically prancing in the hallways," he said dryly. "I think I really regret helping you."

"You don't mean that!" her jaw lowered. "Stopping Skeeter was for the good of all wizarding kind."

He snorted. "Her articles were amusing. Actually, anything regarding Potter about to kick the bucket—"

She took a sharp breath. "Don't joke about that, Malfoy!"

"I can joke about anything I please."

"Then I can be as jolly as I please," she retorted.

He paused. "Is that so?" he asked, the lightness in his voice disappearing. "Even if I ask you why you're here?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"As one of the favors you owe me," he explained. "You're going to tell me the truth of why you're out of class from time to time. The truth, Granger."

Her blood froze in her veins and she went stiff. She should have seen this coming. Malfoy watched her with sharp eyes, her reaction not going unnoticed.

"I can't tell you that," she finally said, not meeting his gaze.

"You swore," he said lowly.

She crushed her tongue and focused on breathing through her nose; three deep exhales later, she unclamped her mouth.

"I know but this isn't just my secret to tell," she tried to explain. It was partially true. "Anything else but that, please Malfoy."

"You can't go back on your word like that," he growled, anger etched into his features. "You owe me at least that much."

"I can't!" she pleaded, sounding more desperate than she wanted to. "I—well—agreed not to disclose information."

"Are you bound by an unbreakable vow not to speak of it?" he questioned. "Does it regard your life or death?"

"No, but—"

"Then you can tell me!" he demanded, squashing the quill in his hands. "There's nothing binding you—"

"My honor is binding me!" she shot back. "I won't betray them—"

"And for me?" he spoke through clenched teeth. "Didn't you swear on your _honor_ as a Gryffindor that you would hold up your side of the deal? Is your integrity so much more greater for them than it is for me?"

Hermione's throat twisted into knots. He sounded upset—no, more bitter, and it bothered her more than it should have.

"That's not fair," she whispered. "You can't ask me to choose."

If she had been asked a year before, to pick between her loyalty to Dumbledore and her promise to Malfoy, she would have immediately chosen her headmaster. But now, she hesitated, and it unnerved her.

"I can't ask you to give me the same regard?" he locked his jaw; there was something that snapped in his eyes as he looked at her. "You know Granger, I thought you were different from your other brainless friends. But it turns out, you're no different after all."

She blinked, feeling her heart crack. Every breath she took felt heavy and prolonged. She didn't know why, but hearing him say that he was disappointed hurt her beyond reason.

"Now get out of my face, mudblood," he growled.

She winched. So it was back to mudblood again. He hadn't called her that since February, not even in the hallways. She risked looking in his eyes and saw nothing of that expression. They were slanted with his furrowed brows, no longer swimming with emotion but flat and cold. She saw a momentary shift in them where he looked hurt and betrayed, but was replaced by icy indifference again.

"Malfoy—"

"I said leave." He snapped.

Hermione clenched her hands into fists, wrinkling her robes. For some odd reason, she felt like he had a right to be angry, and she couldn't gather the energy to snap back at him.

For a brief moment, she considered being in his position. She clamped her eyes and thought. Was it possible that it wasn't the information itself that he wanted, but her trust? Such considerations would have originally been tossed out the window without another glance, but she just couldn't shake the thought away. She inwardly groaned. Did he feel stabbed in the back because she wouldn't place her faith in him?

But did she think less of him? She snapped her lids back and met his sharp eyes.

She didn't.

"Look," she thought hard, trying to decide how to word her confession. "I'm on this mission—researching really—to help someone—"

He snarled. "I don't want to hear it—"

"No!" she slammed her fist on the table, sending vibrations through it. "I'm going to tell you because you asked me, and my word for you is just as strong as it is for anyone else! I just—" she stammered. "—Momentarily forgot. I'm sorry…"

The ice in his eyes cracked as they widened a fraction, but she could see the barriers he set around himself like an impenetrable wall.

"You have to understand," she continued, "that I don't think of you any less than I do for Harry and Ron. Since I made a deal with you… I will hold up my side just as I would have done if it were anyone else… And you're right, I do owe you that much. I am sorry, really, if you want to know, I will tell you."

Hermione didn't dare to meet his gaze, and settled for starting at her fist on the table. She unclenched it slowly, and placed her palm flat against the wood.

"I don't want to know," Malfoy finally replied sharply. "Whatever assignment you're on, just keep it to yourself."

She blinked back the suffocating emotions. Was she too late? Had she potentially messed up everything she had worked for in a span of a half hour?

"A-Are you angry?" she muttered.

He crossed his arms and scowled. "Yes."

"I'm sorr—"

"Stop with your sodding apologies!" he spat. "It doesn't even matter."

"It does!" she argued. "Hell—I really care!"

"Well you shouldn't!" he retorted. "Now _leave._"

"Damn it all," she shut her eyes and stood from her chair, recognizing the final tone in his voice. She had lost. "I am really sorry," she breathed.

He didn't even cut her off this time. He wasn't looking at her.

Feeling dejected, she bit her lip hard and turned on her heel, walking away from the table. She stalked through the bookshelves mindlessly, too distracted to hear the crack of something break as was met with an angry fist, or the mutters of frustration that followed it.

* * *

A/N: I do feel a bit bad for leaving you guys with a slightly depressing ending, but cheer up! The next chapter will make up for it and it'll take off from there! I also apologize if I quashed anyone's hope of them explicitly working together to catch Rita Skeeter (I think they aren't ready for that kind of close team work yet huhu)

Tell me your thoughts on this chapter, the good, the bad, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! I certainly treasure them all.

On an entirely different note, for those who are residing in the U.S or find yourself in that country today, I wish you a very festive Independence Day! Have fun, be crazy, drink a bit, get laid and don't burn the house down.

El


	8. Change of Mind

Disclaimer: You get my drift.

* * *

Chapter 8: Change of Mind

.

Hermione spent the next two weeks biting the inside of her cheek and proceeded to dig her nails into her palms until she had four small c-shaped marks in each hand. She mindlessly completed her homework, making sure to write exactly to the desired length. Her thoughts continuously drifted to Malfoy.

The moment his Charms was over, he stalked over to the Slytherin dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle at his side without a word. So she sat outside the hidden portrait, disillusioned and wondering how in Merlin's name she was going to save herself from this one.

She didn't understand him. One week he's insulting her very existence, then the next week he asks for her to regard him like everyone else. Hermione buried her face in her hands and sank to her knees, letting her robes pile on the cold floor. Was he possible just playing with her? She shook her head, recalling those rare expressions that she didn't think he was capable of making. In fact, there were plenty of surprising moments where she was utterly proved wrong about his character.

She began mentally filing what she currently knew of Malfoy into 'goods' and 'bads'. Firstly, he was an evil git. Scratch that—there needed to be solid, she needed concrete facts and not opinions, no matter how much they seemed to be true.

He was a pureblood. He was rich. He was a Slytherin.

Hermione halted her mental filing and frowned. Where would she put those facts? She couldn't necessarily shove those qualities to the 'bad' section, they were things he was born with, and not something he chose.

A clog turned in her head, and she felt something switch on. Hermione dropped her hands. Was it possible that she had been seeing the irreversible qualities in him as the negative? She inwardly grumbled. Of course it was. All this time, she had it placed in her mind that he was a shallow person with the facial expression capacity of a statue. It's not that he didn't have 'good' parts of him, but the fact that she had refused to see it.

Her chest burned. She was no better than sodding Pansy Parkinson, just hanging around Malfoy because of the irreversible qualities. She had been so set on trying to change him; she had missed the smaller, still genuine parts that made him not just another Malfoy, but Draco.

Taking a moment to fully understand her revelation, she then hissed at herself. The man was in Slytherin, he was subtle with his true feelings and thoughts. And she was sure growing up under the care of a man like Lucius Malfoy wasn't a complete skip through a meadow of flowers either.

Hermione smacked her forehead repeatedly and released a confused breath. This whole mission was overwhelming her in ways she didn't think possible. Deciding that she needed to talk to him again as soon as possible, she begrudgingly pulled herself from the dungeons and removed the charm. Her borrowed hours were up, and it was time to get back into real time.

Her spirits didn't get any better as she heard the news of Harry screaming and clutching his scar during Divination a week before the third task. She paced in the common room with Ron, waiting for him to come back. The second he slipped through the portrait door, she rammed him with questions until Ron clamped his hand over his face and demanded that she'd calm down.

Harry repeated his conversation with Professor Dumbledore. She was shocked to hear about the trails regarding previous death eaters, including Karkaroff and Bagman in the pensieve.

"And you're telling me Dumbledore still trusts Snape?" Ron asked sounding baffled. "I don't believe it."

"He does," Harry assured.

"And he says You-Know-Who is getting stronger again?" Ron's voice weakened.

"Yes," Hermione answered this time, surprising both boys. Dumbledore had told her there was danger approaching when he gave her the Malfoy mission. He must have known this day would come. "Now come on—no more questions, Harry has to practice, the third task is next week!"

Ron just grumbled to himself, and Harry followed her out of the common room with a sigh.

The morning of the third task, the Great Hall was buzzing with chatter and excitement. Hermione speared her toast with her knife, barely glancing up as the Daily Prophet owl swooped in. She handed the owl a chunk of her break, dropped a knut in its carrier and quickly grabbed the newspaper. She scanned through the paper with distaste. There wasn't anything much of interest after Hermione had stopped Skeeter, but it didn't stop other writers to publish far-fetched speculations and reports on what they thought Harry was up to.

Mrs. Weasley and Bill made a surprise visit to watch Harry in the third task. The elder woman gave her a cold greeting, and she pursed her lips. As much as Hermione loved the Wesley matriarch, if she actually read and believed Rita Skeeter's lies, there wasn't much motherly respect she had for her. A second later, Harry cleared up the issue, confirming that she was definitely not his girlfriend.

When night fell, there was a grand feast but she could tell Harry was more nervous than said. Dumbledore called the champions to the Quidditch pitch. She gave him a reassuring wave as he stood from his place and followed the other three champions out.

After all the food had been cleared, the Heads of each House came forward and led each table out of the Great Hall in a mannerly order. They climbed up the stairs of the stands, and sat in the cold metal seats. Everyone around her was already roaring with cheers and shouts of support.

The champions came forward, Harry and Cedric at the front. She waved at him as he spotted them and beamed. Bagman announced the current situation and with a loud bang, both of Hogwarts' champions darted into the opening of the maze.

Hermione clutched her hands together, and breathed. He would be all right. Harry will make it. A few minutes later, the whistle blew a second time, allowing Viktor to run in, and some time after that, Fleur dashed in the maze.

Twenty minutes into the task, an ear-shattering scream pierced the night. Hermione jumped, feeling her stomach twist into knots. That was definitely Fleur. Beauxbatons' students were muttering amongst themselves, a few sporting worried expressions. Ten minutes after, there was a round of more screaming. She clenched her hands—it was definitely male, and it sounded like the most agonizing sound she had heard. After a few moments, red sparks shot into the air and Hermione gasped. Everyone started chattering at once, trying to figure out which male champion had given up. She rocked back and forth in her seat, assuring herself that the scream didn't sound like Harry, but she wasn't feeling convinced.

From the side of the maze, she saw McGonagall emerge, levitating a body on a white cot. She took a sharp breath as she recognized Viktor's form lying utterly motionless. Her professor looked incredibly grim as she transferred him to the mediwitches on duty. Durmstrang exploded with roars and angry outburst, some clutching their faces while others stood up pointed at Viktor in defeat.

Her stomach lurched as she saw him being taken away. Honestly, she didn't expect him to be the first champion out. If she was right, the Bulgarian looked stunned. That meant either he had sent the sparks before being attacked by another champion, or someone else had shot the rescue signal after stunning him. She bit the inside of her cheek and scowled. She couldn't imagine any of the other champions attacking so shamelessly, but there wasn't any other reasonable explanation.

An hour had gone by and Hermione was nearly losing her mind. She wasn't the only one either. There were hushed murmurs throughout the crowd, and even the judges looked a bit worried. For some reason, Karkaroff had bolted from his seat a half-hour ago, and never returned. An unconscious Fleur had been retrieved sometime later, but Harry and Cedric were nowhere in sight.

Another hour went by until there was a loud crack in the air and she saw Harry fall flat against the ground with Cedric, the Triwizard Cup tossed to the side. She immediately stood and gasped. Cedric was still and Harry was at his side equally motionless. The crowd burst with noise, but it was far from cheers.

Dumbledore rushed forward with the Minister of Magic right behind him, proclaiming Cedric dead. Harry yelled about Voldemort retuning. Hermione seemed to have lost track of everything after that. She remembered girls screaming, Mrs. Weasley grabbing her arm and ushering her down the stands. Ron looked frantic. Harry was nowhere to be in sight.

Ignoring the rest of the crowd, she was pulled along with Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Bill to the school's Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was inside but Harry was still nowhere to be seen.

When the hour hand stuck past midnight, the Infirmary door swung open to reveal Dumbledore, Harry, and Sirius in his animagus form. Immense relief rushed through her and she wanted nothing more than to jump to Harry like Mrs. Weasley did. Dumbledore spoke in a stern voice, making sure everyone understood not to question Harry until he was ready. Madam Pomfrey handed him a sleeping aid, causing him to knock out until the following day.

.

Hermione could have not asked for a worse welcoming arrival. She returned to the Hospital with Ron in the next afternoon, quietly conversing with Mrs. Weasely and Bill when the Minister of Magic burst into the room demanding for Dumbledore. She had her fair share of respect for the Minister of Magic, but after his abrupt arrival and abuse of power by bringing a bloody Dementor into the school, she didn't know if she could stand to be in the same room as him any longer. McGonagall had been absolutely furious, and she could tell Dumbledore was also discontent that the Minister had practically killed their witness.

"Crouch was a crazy murderer!" Fudge bellowed, unwilling to back down on his argument with the Headmaster. "He thought he was taking orders from You-Know-Who the entire time! The man was quite obviously touched in the head!"

"He _was _under the direct orders of Voldemort, Cornelius," Dumbledore said sternly. "As I have told you before, Severus, Minerva and I have all heard him confess his deeds under Veritaserum—including his escape from Azkaban. Lord Voldemort has returned."

Fudge looked as if Dumbledore had slapped him. "You-Know-Who has returned, you say? That's… impossible."

"I have heard both his account and Harry's side of the story as well," the headmaster answered. "He is back."

"Impossible," Fudge repeated. "You're going to take the word of a complete lunatic and a 14-year-old boy?"

"I know what I saw!" Harry suddenly inputted, startling everyone in the room but Dumbledore. "Voldemort is back and—"

"You don't know anything boy!" the Minister waved a hand, cringing at the name.

"I can tell you the death eaters that were there!" Harry raged. "Lucius Malfoy, Avery, Macnair, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle—"

"Cleared!" he cut Harry off again. "Those men have been perfectly cleared and are now working to better support the Ministry! You are simply naming those accused thirteen years ago—"

Hermione's throat seemed to collapse. She drowned out Fudge's voice after Harry had pinned Malfoy. She believed Harry's words, which only meant two things. Voldemort had indeed returned, and Lucius Malfoy set himself back into the madman's service. Dumbledore was right. She didn't have a lot of time at all to help Draco. In fact, her time was coming to a close. If his father went back, she had no doubt in her mind that the son would also bend to his will. She couldn't have that.

"—You must remove the dementors from Azkaban," Dumbledore demanded. "They will not follow the ministry any longer with Voldemort's return."

"_If_ he returned that is!" Fudge turned purple. "And I refuse to believe that is true based on the confessions of a lunatic and Potter—"

The minister jabbed a finger at Harry who was fuming and clutching his sheets.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to grow cold. "If you continue to deny this fact, then it appears we will have to part ways. You may hold onto your position for as long as you try, but I will act as I see fit."

"Dumbledore you cannot possible mean such nonsense!" the man took a sharp breath. "For You-Know-Who to be back… No… it's complete nonsense."

It wasn't until Snape strode forward and tore back his sleeve did Hermione snap back into the conversation. She saw the Dark Mark tattooed on her professor's forearm, a black skull and snake coiling as if it was alive. For a fleeting second, she saw Draco in place of Snape, presenting his arm for everyone to see. His grey eyes flickered towards her, than disappeared, melting back into Snape's black orbs.

Fudge wouldn't have any of it. He shook his head, dropped off the money for Harry and scurried out of the Hospital Wing muttering about everyone going mad.

Hermione wished she could have listened to Dumbledore's words after that. But all she could see was Draco standing in front of her as if he was actually there, the Mark burned into his creamy skin. She choked.

"—Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice cut through her thoughts.

She refocused her eyes to see Sirius and Snape rushing out the room, both looking grim. Everyone else was crowding around Harry with similar expressions. She snapped her head towards her headmaster who was looking at her with an unreadable look.

He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Six turns."

With that, the old wizard bid everyone else farewell and left the room with a swish of his robes. She could feel the color drain from her face, but kept her composure.

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, turning around. "What did Dumbledore want?"

She swallowed. "Just said to take care of Harry—I'm going out for a bit, be back soon."

Ron gave her a confused stare as she darted out of the Hospital Wing before he could question her.

The door slid closed with an echoing slam, and Hermione bolted from the hallway, eager to find a secluded area.

Six hours.

She had never traveled that far before. Considering she only had to travel three at the most when she went with Harry to save Sirius, going back twice the time was making her nervous. She knew everything regarding the Time Turner had to do with helping Draco, but finding him and trying to talk to him after their latest argument didn't seem like an easy task. Then again, nothing was easy when he was tossed into the equation.

After cutting another corner, she dug the Time Turner from her robes and breathed. She looped the hourglass six times and closed her eyes, clutching the necklace with her hand. When she snapped her eyes open, she checked her surroundings, concluding that she was in the large open area before the Great Hall.

With shaking hands, she pulled out her wand and cast the disillusionment charm on herself, making sure no one was around. She quickly calculated the time in her head. It was nine in the morning, which meant Harry was still sleeping, and she and Ron were in the Gryffindor tower quietly talking.

But what was Draco doing? She was sure Dumbledore had sent her back this far for a reason. How would she find him anyway? Deciding to start walking around instead of standing there, Hermione began darting through the empty hallways.

After about twenty minutes of stealthily running around, she began to lose hope. Where would he be? She doubted Dumbledore would sent her back if he knew Draco kept himself inside the Slytherin dungeons all day.

As if the heavens heard her pleas, a familiar mop of blonde hair turned the corner of the hallway she was in. For a moment, all she could see was his figure standing in front of her in the Hospital Wing with the Dark Mark on his forearm. She shook her head and expelled the image from her mind.

Draco's face looked more stoic than usual. His eyes were set in a determined slant, his lips pulled into a thin line and a definite purpose in his walk. She pressed herself against the wall and clamped her mouth, wondering how she was going to approach him. The moment he walked past her, he suddenly stopped and turned his head. His dark expression broke slightly as his eyebrows furrowed as he looked in her direction almost questioningly.

Hermione didn't breathe. Was her charm slipping? No, that was impossible. She had perfected the spell after using it so much. And she was sure she hadn't made a single sound.

The blonde sighed quietly and ran his hand through his hair, turning from her. He continued to walk, settling his face back into a frown. She followed after him, keeping a safe distance away in case he decided to turn around again.

Draco lengthened his strides, leaving through the Clock Tower and began walking towards the large wooden bridge. Something inside her told her to stop him. The Stone Circle was at the end of the long bridge, but gut instinct told her that she should not let him get there.

She tapped her wand and released the charm. Hermione had no idea what she was going to say, but she had to try something. She darted after him, making sure no one else was in sight and called out to him.

"Malfoy!" she softy yelled.

He stopped cold in his tracks and spun his head around with a snap. His eyes widened with surprise as if he couldn't believe she was actually there, then settled into a scowl.

"Granger? What are you—"

"I need to tell you something!" she said breathlessly, finally catching up to him.

He narrowed his eyes. "Not now, my father is waiting for me."

Her brain clicked. This was it. Dumbledore must have somehow known about their meeting and sent her before they could talk. Harry saw Lucius Malfoy at the Death Eater gathering. He must have come to inform Draco about it, and no doubt kill everything she had ever built with him the past year.

She stared at him resolutely. "He's back. V-Voldemort's back"

Draco's grey eyes snapped to hers, bewilderment clear in his gaze. She held back an instinctive cringe. She had never said his name before, only Harry and Dumbledore dared to do it. But there was no space for fear now. She felt braver.

"Wha—"

"I'm so sorry about before," she spluttered, feeling a rush of emotions. "I was wrong. Honestly, you have every right to be mad at me. But I know now, you're not that like that, Malfoy. I just couldn't see it before, but you have to understand, I do trust you, which I why I'm saying this—But—I just—"

"Granger, shut up," he demanded, but the stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease, even just slightly. "Stop blabbering and get your head on straight."

"I'm sorry—"

"And stop apologizing!" he yelled a bit more forcefully. "Merlin, is that all you can say?"

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and blew up her cheeks. She took a huge breath and unclenched her fingers.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer, but he didn't walk away either.

"Then… do you hate me?" she bit her lip at his silence, and took another breath. "Because I don't hate you. I might have once—or maybe I thought I did—but I don't hate you."

She watched his face intently. His grey eyes regarded her carefully, but there was no clear malice in his gaze.

"What do you want, Granger?" he finally asked, shifting his weight to his right leg.

She released her lip. "Nothing. It's always been, and always will be nothing. Not everything has to be an exchange. I just…"

What would she say? I want to see you make better choices in life? That he was about to walk down a road he would regret? She inwardly snorted.

"Just what?" he leaned forward.

"Look, I… I know we're not the best of friends, but I still care," she explained. "And it's not care out of pity—I just want to understand you. I feel like… we're not so different, regardless of blood status or House."

He took a sharp breath. "We're as different as night and day, Granger, there's no changing that no matter how much you want to understand."

"I'm not asking for change," she sighed. _Trust me, I've already tried that. _"All I'm asking for is a chance for you to look beyond irreversible qualities. You'll always be a pureblood and I will always be a muggle-born, nothing can change that, but with V-Voldemort's return—and yes, I do believe he's back—I want to understand why you'll be out for my blood if you… choose that path…"

Draco looked hesitant. She could see his eyes flicker with confusion. He released a quiet exhale and turned around.

"I don't have time. My father is waiting."

Hermione's throat tightened. She dashed after him into the covered bridge, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"Malfoy, give it some thought, please," she urged, nearly jogging next to him. "Or at least keep it in mind as you talk to your father."

He growled. "You act like you know what my father will say to me."

_I bet I have a better understanding than you think. _She sighed. "Maybe. I have a good guess, but will you consider—"

"There's nothing to consider," he retorted. They were crossing the halfway point of the bridge now.

"There is!" she argued and jumped in front of him, arms out to the side. He stopped abruptly, glaring at her.

"Move," he demanded.

"No," she answered, unwavering in her decision. Her chest burned with resolution as she met his storming eyes squarely. "Look, you're going to have to cut me down and knock me out if you want me to move. I won't fight back. And if you do… I'll drop this… I won't ask you to consider anything anymore."

His eyes widened. She was betting everything. If he could find the will to attack her when she was unarmed and unwilling to fight back, then everything she believed about him would have been proved wrong. Hermione wanted to trust that he wouldn't do it. She glanced at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

Draco's mouth curved into a frustrated snarl. "I see what you're doing here, Granger. You think I won't attack you? I'm not a bloody saint—"

He pulled out his wand from his robes and pointed it at her chest. Hermione's heart constricted, but she didn't say a word. This was it. He could attack her at any moment. A small part of her still believed he wouldn't.

For what seemed like an eternity, they just stared at each other. Hermione's arms were shaking, screaming for her to set them down, but she held. She wasn't going to give in. Draco still had his arm up as well, his wand unmoving but still pointed at her.

He was giving her that _look _again, but this time, he seemed to be struggling immensely.

Something gave.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes conjured and wrapped themselves around her, yanking her arms back to her side. Hermione didn't even struggle as she fell to the side and toppled onto the wooden floor. He had attacked her. She was wrong.

Draco dashed around her and sprinted across the rest of the bridge, his footsteps sending tremors across the wood and onto her face. When she could no longer hear or feel the weight of his steps on the bridge, Hermione let out a strangled breath.

For a while, she simply lied in the same position not sure how to proceed. She didn't even have the mental strength to counter the spell. Her mind swirled painfully as she tried to think of every conversation they had through the course of the year—now in shambles. But had she truly given up on him? The logical side of her screamed affirmative, but the rest of her denied it.

After her shoulder began to throb from her uncomfortable position, she shifted her weight and fell flat on her back with a loud thump. To her shock, the ropes seemed to follow her movement. She craned her neck to see the offending material around her and finally noticed how loose it was. If she wanted to, she was sure she could move her arm to retrieve her wand and reverse the spell.

Why had he done that? She highly doubted his spell work was diminishing. Was he trying to tell her to undo the spell and leave him? In all honesty, the ropes were unexpected; she had predicted a terrible curse of some sort, or at least a stunner. She rammed her head with possible theories and speculations, replaying their conversation in her head, not even bothering to undo the ropes.

Yes, she had cornered him but she had also given him the perfect chance to hex her and stop her advancements for good. Hermione insisted that he cut her down and knock her out as his answer, but he had bound her instead, and quite loosely at that. She clamped her eyes shut in thought. Draco was a Slytherin; he was subtle with his feelings. Something… it had to mean something. She was sure if he didn't want to give her idea any consideration at all, he would have cursed her on the spot without the eternity of hesitation.

She wanted to believe it. Draco was giving it a chance. He certainly had a nasty way of agreeing with her, but it was far better than being stunned and left on the bridge. Her mind drifted back to the ropes. Was he testing her as well? Had he intentionally left the bindings loose so she could counter the spell and storm off? He was asking her to choose again. She could either give up on him as she insisted she'd do if he attacked her, or stay where she was.

Hermione grumbled as her head throbbed painfully. This was simply too much. She was glad the entire school was mourning over the events of last night's task, no one had bothered to leave the castle to find her lying on the floor of the covered bridge, bound in ropes.

So she decided to stay.

For the next hour or so, Hermione stayed flat on her back thinking of what she would say to Draco and cursing his idiocy at the same time. As she was in the middle of cursing his sodding perfect hair, she felt someone's footsteps vibrate through the wood and hit the back of her head.

Stopping herself, she caught her breath and concentrated on the tremors. After a few moments, the vibrations increased, becoming increasingly stronger and faster. What in Merlin's name—was he running a marathon? The next second, Draco's face appeared above hers, still upside down as she was staring at him from the floor. His breathing was slightly labored, eyebrows twisted in shock, and his eyes wide.

"About time!" Hermione yelled first. "Honestly what was there to talk about for so long?"

Draco blinked three times before settling his face in a look of disbelief. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"Because I happen to like lying on hard wooden floors," she replied sarcastically. "I was waiting for you, Malfoy, you dolt!"

"Wha—"

"Don't think I've given up," she stared into his eyes. "You didn't give me a proper answer anyway."

Draco pulled his wand out from his robes, and for a brief second, she thought he was going to hex her for good.

"Relashio."

The ropes disappeared with a wave of his wand and scowled down at her as he tucked his wand away.

"There's my bloody answer. Happy?"

She felt her lips break into a smile and her shoulders seemed ten times lighter.

"Very. Thank you," she beamed.

She bolted from her position and sat up, brushing off all the dust and dirt in her hair. With a flick of her wand, she used the scouring charm to vanish the rest of the mess from her robes.

Draco was watching her every move with sharp eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me about my father?"

She turned to him. "I don't see the need. Besides, I wasn't lying when I said I already had a good guess of what he wanted to tell you."

His expression darkened. "I see. So the Dark Lord has returned, and Potter really escaped from him last night."

She nodded. She knew Fudge also refused to accept that Voldemort had returned, which would make matters worse, but she couldn't tell him that. It technically hasn't even happened yet.

"And you're going to try and fight him, I suppose?" Draco scoffed lightly.

She bit the inside of her lip. "I don't have a choice. I'm muggle-born, he'll come for me either way since I'm pretty much everything he and his followers hate."

The corner of his lips pulled down. "Of course, you Gryffindors and your hero complex…"

She ignored that comment. "What about you?"

He crossed his arms, pausing. "I don't know."

Hermione quieted after that. At least he didn't follow after his father immediately. But where would she take this from here? In all honesty, she never thought she could get him to give her a chance. They walked out of the bridge in silence, and slipped back into the Clock Tower. The halls were empty other than two first year girls who practically ran away when Draco sneered at them.

She glanced at her watch, reading a quarter past twelve. She still had a little over two hours before her borrowed time was up.

"Where are you going?" Draco's voice cut through, as she turned right.

She glanced back. "Astronomy Tower. I need to do some thinking."

_And I have two hours to kill. Can't be seen. _

He pursed his lips and slightly raised a brow. He stood still as if he was contemplating something.

"You're welcome to come with," she suggested quietly.

He paused. "Don't be ridiculous. I need to do my own thinking as well."

Hermione tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. Was she actually expecting him to follow her? She settled for a shrug.

"All right," she breathed. "I'll see you around then."

Without saying goodbye, he turned on his heel and continued to walk down the hall and out of sight.

She didn't move until the sound of his footsteps faded away. Slumping down at the bottom of the spiral staircase, she sighed. She had done her best.

As she sat, the image of Draco standing before her with the Mark on his arm appeared again. She stared into his empty grey eyes that were so unlike the constant clashing of emotions she saw earlier. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. Hermione didn't know where the feeling came from, but it was overpowering everything else, making her hands itch. She couldn't let that happen to him. She just couldn't.

* * *

A/N: Firstly, can I just say... wow! I am seriously overjoyed by the response I got last week, I cannot thank you guys enough for all the love! I reached 100 followers the other day *dancing around* so it feels a bit unreal. Y'all are making me so happy inside.

Aaand moving on to the chapter. Fourth year is almost over for them, I'd say maybe another chapter or two, a summer break chapter, then we're moving onto fifth year. Whew, three more years to go! I hope it was—as usual—believable. Let me know your thoughts!

On a completely different note, I started a teaching job at a local college, and holy mother, I am exhausted. Although I'm terribly busy, I'm not going to put this on a break—I'll keep writing, but the update times might get a little erratic. I will do my best though! And again, thank you all. You're the best.

El


End file.
